We went down on the floor together, and I had a confused notion that
the door swung open and four or five others rushed into the room.
I squirmed free from my opponent, and sprang to my feet in time to see
the whole pack around Doddridge Knapp.
The King of the Street sat calm and forceful with a revolver in his
hand, and all had halted, fearing to go farther.
"Don't come too close, gentlemen," growled the Wolf.
Then I saw one of the men raise a six-shooter to aim at the defiant
figure that faced them. I gave a spring and with one blow laid the man
on the floor. There was a flash of fire as he fell, and a deafening
noise was in my ears. Men all about me were striking at me. I scarcely
felt their blows as I warded them off and returned them, for I was
half-mad with the desperate sense of conflict against odds. But at last
I felt myself seized in an iron grip, and in a moment was seated beside
Doddridge Knapp on the desk.
"The time is up," he said. "There's the sheriff and Caswell with the
writ."
"I congratulate you," I answered, my head still swimming, noting that
the enemy had drawn back at the coming of reinforcements.
"Good heavens, man, you're hurt!" he cried, pointing to my left sleeve
where a blood stain was spreading. The wound I had received in the
night conflict at Livermore had reopened in the struggle.
"It's nothing," said I. "Just a scratch."
"Here! get a doctor!" cried the King of the Street. "Gentlemen, the
directors' meeting is postponed, by order of court.
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