Darby Meeker growled an answer.
"You know what we're here for."
"You have broken into a respectable house like a band of robbers," I
cried. "What do you want?"
"You know what we want, Mr. Wilton," was the surly answer. "Give us the
boy and we won't touch you."
"And if not?"
There was silence for a few moments.
"What are you waiting for?" growled a voice from beyond the turn of the
hall.
At the sound I thrilled to the inmost fiber. Was it not the growl of
the Wolf? Could I be mistaken in those tones? I listened eagerly for
another word that might put it beyond doubt.
"Well, are you going to give him up?" asked the hoarse voice of Meeker.
"There has got to be some better reason for it than your demand," I
suggested.
"Well, we've got reasons enough here. Stand ready, boys."
"Look out!" I said to my men, with a glance behind. As I turned I saw
without noting it that Wainwright and Fitzhugh had come out of the
boy's room to take a hand in the impending trouble. Lockhart and Wilson
slipped in front of me.
"Get back and look after the boy," whispered the former. "We can hold
'em here."
"Move ahead there!" shouted a fierce voice that again thrilled the ear
and heart with the growl of the Wolf. "What are you afraid of?"
"Stand fast, boys," I said to my men. "Wainwright, keep close to the
bedroom." Then I shouted defiance to the enemy. "The first man that
moves forward gets killed! There are eight revolvers here.
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