“Then I shall manhandle you, truss you up like a fowl in the tonneau of your car, and gag you.”
To Bryce's infinite surprise the Colonel smiled. “Oh, very well!” he replied. “I guess you've got the bulge on me, young man. Do you mind if I sit in the warm cab of my own engine? I came away in such a hurry I quite forgot my overcoat.”
“Not at all. I'll sit up there and keep you company.”
Half an hour passed. An automobile came slowly up Water Street and paused half a block away, evidently reconnoitering the situation. Instantly the Colonel thrust his head out the cab window.
“Sexton!” he shouted. “Cardigan's cutting in a crossing. He's holding me here against my will. Get the mill-crew together and phone for Rondeau and his woods-crew. Send the switch-engine and a couple of flats up for them. Phone Poundstone. Tell him to have the chief of police--”
Bryce Cardigan's great hand closed over the Colonel's neck, while down Water Street a dark streak that was Buck Ogilvy sped toward the automobile, intending to climb in and make Pennington's manager a prisoner also. He was too late, however. Sexton swung his car and departed at full speed down Water Street, leaving the disappointed Buck to return panting to the scene of operations.
Bryce Cardigan released his hold on Pennington's neck. “You win, Colonel,” he announced. “No good can come of holding you here any longer. Into your car and on your way.”
“Thank you, young man,” the Colonel answered, and there was a metallic ring in his voice. He looked at his watch in the glare of a torch. “Plenty of time,” he murmured. “Curfew shall not ring to-night.” Quite deliberately he climbed into the Mayor's late source of woe and breezed away.
Colonel Pennington did not at once return to his home, however. Instead, he drove up to the business centre of the town. The streets were deserted, but one saloon--the Sawdust Pile--was still open.
Pennington strode through the bar and into the back room, where a number of poker-games were in progress. For a moment he stood, his cold, ophidian glance circling the room until it came to rest on no less a personage than the Black Minorca, an individual with whom the reader has already had some slight acquaintance. It will be recalled that the Black Minorca led the futile rush against Bryce Cardigan that day in Pennington's woods.