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Page 36
Suddenly, as they neared the hotel, a veritable bedlam of sound fell upon
their ears, apparently from inside that hostelry--men shouting, a dog
barking, and above all the screeching, crazed voice of a drunken man.
The startled policemen dashed into the front entrance, through the office
and across the passage into the bar beyond, from whence the uproar
proceeded.
"Help! Murder! Pleece!" some apparently high-strung individual was
bawling. A ludicrous, but nevertheless dangerous, sight met their eyes.
A motley crowd, composed mainly of well-dressed passengers from off the
temporarily-stalled West-bound train and a sprinkling of townsfolk, were
backed--hands up--into a corner of the bar by a big, hard-faced man clad
in range attire who was menacing them with a long-barrelled revolver. He
was dark-haired and swarthy, with sinister, glittering eyes. One
red-headed, red-nosed individual had apparently resented parting with the
drink that he had paid for; as in one decidedly-shaky elevated hand he
still clutched his glass, its whiskey and water contents slopping down
the neck of his nearest unfortunate neighbour.
"Mon!" he apologized, in tearful accents, "Ah juist canna help it!"
"Pitch up!" the "bad man" was shrieking, "Pitch up! yu' ----s!--That
d----d Blake--that d----d Gully! Stealin' my hawss away'f me an' gittin'
me fined! I'll git back at somebody fur this! _Pleece_! yes!--yeh kin
holler '_Pleece_!'--Let me get th' drop on th' red-coated, yelluh-laigged
sons of ----! Ah-hh!"--His eyes glittered with his insane passion, "Here
they come! Now! watch th' ----s try an' arrest me!"
Fairly frothing at the mouth, the man, at that moment working himself
into a frenzy, was plainly as dangerous as a mad dog. Drunk though he
undoubtedly was, he did not stagger as he stepped to and fro with
cat-like activity, his gun levelled at the policemen's heads. It was an
ugly situation. Slavin and his men taken utterly by surprise hesitated,
as well they might; for a single attempt to draw their sidearms might
easily bring inglorious death upon one or another of them.
We have noted that on a previous occasion Redmond demonstrated his
ability to think and act quickly. He upheld that reputation now. Like a
flash he ducked behind Slavin's broad shoulders and backed into the
passage. Picking up at random the first missile available--to wit--an
empty soda-water bottle, he tip-toed swiftly along the passage to a door
opening into the bar lower down. This practically brought him
broadside-on to his man. A moment he peered and judged his distance
then, drawing back his arm he flung the bottle with all his force. At
McGill he had been a base-ball pitcher of some renown, so his aim was
true. The bottle caught its objective full in the ear. With a scream of
pain the man staggered forward and clutched with one hand at his head,
his gun still in his grip sagging floorwards.
Instantly then, Yorke, who was the nearest, sprang at him like a tiger
and, ranging one arm around his enemy's bull neck, strove with the other
to wrest the gun from his grasp. It was a feat however, more easily
imagined than accomplished--to disarm a powerful, active man. The tense
fingers tightened immediately upon the weapon and resisted to their
uttermost. Slavin and Redmond both had their side-arms drawn now, but
they were afraid to use them, on Yorke's account. The combatants were
whirling giddily to and fro, the muzzle of the gun describing every point
of the compass.
Taking a risky chance, Slavin, watching his opportunity suddenly closed
with the struggling men and, raising his arm brought the barrel of his
heavy Colt's .45 smashing down on the knuckles of the crazed man's
gun-hand. Instantaneously the latter's weapon dropped to the floor.
Bang! The cocked hammer discharged one chamber--the bullet ricocheting
off the brass bar-rail deflected through a cluster of glasses and
bottles, smashing them and a long saloon-mirror into a myriad splinters.
But few of the company there escaped the deadly flying glass, as
badly-gashed faces immediately testified. It all happened in quicker
time than it takes to relate.
"'Crown' him!" gasped Yorke, still grimly hanging onto his man, "'Crown'
the ---- good and hard!"
Redmond sprang forward, grasping a small, shot-loaded police "billy," but
Slavin interposed a huge arm.
"Nay!" he said sharply, and with curious eagerness, "Du not 'chrown' um
bhoy! lave um tu me!" And he grasped one of the big, struggling man's
wrists firmly in a vise-like grip. "Leggo, Yorkey!"
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