“All right, boys, come on, an’ if a free fight starts, the rest of you pile right in behin’ us and crack as many heads as you see. I’m going after Salmon Jack, Long Aleck, and whoever else I see in there,” said the warden as he started forward with his detachment of followers at his heels.
On his way around to the front of the building the warden drew a huge revolver from under his coat and cocked the hammer. Then as he reached the narrow porch that stretched in front of the doorway he muttered under his breath:
“Be ready, lads; here goes.”
The next instant there was the tramping of many feet on the porch and a bang as Mr. Williams threw open the door and leapt inside, his revolver leveled.
“Hands up,” he roared as he advanced, followed closely by the five men who had come to help him make the arrests.
In the brief pause that followed Jack caught a glimpse of a smoke-filled room furnished with dirty, grimy-looking round tables and a big flat piano. The place was crowded with disreputable looking men. They were all swarthy and ugly of feature and Jack appraised them as about the worst looking lot of individuals he had ever set eyes upon.
At the roared command of the warden, every man turned and faced the doorway, and when they saw the leveled revolver, backed up by determined faces and heavy looking clubs, they at once put their hands above their heads. Then before they could recover from their surprise Mr. Williams pointed out four of them with a wave of his revolver, calling each one of them by name.
“You, Salmon Jack, an’ Long Aleck, come out here, an’ you Jean Bastian, and Paul Nez there, come on. You’re all under arrest. I’ve warrants for each one o’—”
Crash!
Jack heard the rattle of glass and tin and the place was in total darkness! Some one had thrown a chair and smashed the big swinging oil lamp in the center of the room, putting it completely out. And the next instant came the cry: