man?"
"I want Lee Haines before the crowd gets him."
"Would you really try to take Haines out?" asked Rogers with a touch of awe.
"Are there any guards in the jail?"
"Two. Lewis an' Patterson."
"Give me a written order for Haines."
The deputy wavered.
"If I do that I'm done for in this town!"
"Maybe. I want the key for Haines's handcuffs."
"Go over an' put your hoss up in the shed behind the jail," said Rogers, fighting for time, "an' when you come back I'll have the order written out an' give it to you with the key."
"Why not come over with me now?"
"I got some other business."
"In five minutes I'll be back," said Dan, and left the house.
Outside he whistled to Satan, and the stallion trotted up to him. He swung into the saddle and rode to the jail. There was not a guard in sight. He rode around to the other side of the building to reach the stable. Still he could not sight one of those shadowy horsemen who had surrounded the place a few minutes before. Perhaps the crowd had called in the guards to join the attack.
He put Satan away in the stable and as he led him into a stall he heard a roar of many voices far away. Then came the crack of half a dozen revolvers. Dan set his teeth and glanced quickly over the half-dozen horses in the little shed. He recognized the tall bay of Lee Haines at once and threw on its back the saddle which hung on a peg directly behind it. As he drew up the cinch another shout came from the street, but this time very close.
When he raced around the jail he saw the crowd pouring into the house of the deputy sheriff. He ran on till he came to the outskirts of the mob. Every man was masked, but in the excitement no one noticed that Dan's face was bare. Squirming his way through the press, Dan reached the deputy's office. It was almost filled. Rogers stood on a chair trying to argue with the cattlemen.
"No more talk, sheriff," thundered one among the cowpunchers, "we've had enough of your line of talk. Now we want some action of our own brand. For the last time: Are you goin' to order Lewis an' Patterson to give up Haines, or are you goin' to let two good men die fightin' for a damn long rider?"
"What about the feller who's goin' to take Lee Haines out of Elkhead?" cried another.
The crowd yelled with delight.
"Yes, where is he? What about him?"
Rogers, glancing down from his position on the chair, stared into the brown eyes of Whistling Dan. He stretched out an arm that shook with excitement.
"That feller there!" he cried, "that one without a mask! Whistlin' Dan Barry is the man!"
24. THE RESCUE
The throng gave back from Dan, as if from the vicinity of a panther. Dan faced the circle of scowling faces, smiling gently upon them.
"Look here, Barry," called a voice from the rear of the crowd, "why do you want to take Haines away? Throw in your cards with us. We need you."
"If it's fightin' you want," cried a joker, "maybe Lewis an' Patterson will give us all enough of it at the jail."
"I ain't never huntin' for trouble," said Dan.
"Make your play quick," said another. "We got no time to waste even on Dan Barry. Speak out, Dan. Here's a lot of good fellers aimin' to take out Haines an' give him what's due him—no more. Are you with us?"
"I'm not."
"Is that final?"
"It is."
"All right. Tie him up, boys. There ain't no other way!"
"Look out!" shouted a score of voices, for a gun flashed in Dan's hand.
He aimed at no human target. The bullet shattered the glass lamp into a thousand shivering and tinkling splinters. Thick darkness blotted the room. Instantly thereafter a blow, a groan, and the fall of a body; then a confused clamour.
"He's here!"
"Give up that gun, damn you!"
"You got the wrong man!"
"I'm Bill Flynn!"
"Guard the door!"
"Lights, for God's sake!"
"Help!"
A slender figure leaped up against the window and was dimly outlined by the starlight outside. There was a crash of falling glass, and as two or three guns exploded the figure leaped down outside the house.
"Follow him!"
"Who was that?"
"Get a light! Who's got a match?"
Half the men rushed out of the room to pursue that fleeing figure. The other half remained to see what had happened. It seemed impossible that Whistling Dan had escaped from their midst. Half a dozen sulphur matches spurted little jets of blue flame and discovered four men lying prone on the floor, most of them with the wind trampled from their bodies, but otherwise unhurt. One of them was the sheriff.
He lay with his shoulders propped against the wall. His mouth was a mass of blood.
"Who got you, Rogers?"
"Where's Barry?"
"The jail, the jail!" groaned Rogers. "Barry has gone for the jail!"
Revolvers rattled outside.
"He's gone for Haines," screamed the deputy. "Go get him, boys!"
"How can he get Haines? He ain't got the keys."
"He has, you fools! When he shot the lights out he jumped for me and knocked me off the chair. Then he went through my pockets and got the keys. Get on your way! Quick!"
The lynchers, yelling with rage, were already stamping from the room.
With the jangling bunch of keys in one hand and his revolver in the other, Dan started full speed for the jail as soon as he leaped down from the window. By the time he had covered half the intervening distance the first pursuers burst out of Rogers's house and opened fire after the shadowy fugitive. He whirled and fired three shots high in the air. No matter how impetuous, those warning shots would make the mob approach the jail with some caution.
On the door of the jail he beat furiously with the bunch of keys.
"What's up? Who's there?" cried a voice within.
"Message from
