Put him out for keeps. For God's sake, don't let him
go!"
But it was not Kirk's idea to strangle his victim beyond a certain
point. He relaxed his grip after a moment and, nodding to Ringold
to do likewise, took the fellow's wrists himself, then swung him
about until he faced the others. The man's lungs filled with fresh
air, he began to struggle once more, and when his voice had
returned he gasped:
"I'll get you for this. You'll do a trick--" He mumbled a name
that did not sound at all like Jefferson Locke, whereupon the
Missourian made a rush at him that required the full strength of
Anthony's free hand to thwart.
"Here, stand back! I've got him!"
"I'll kill him!" chattered the other.
"Let me go," the stranger gasped. "I'll take you all in. I'm an
officer."
"It's a lie!" shouted Locke. "He's a thief."
"I tell you I'm--an officer; I arrest this--"
The words were cut off abruptly by a loud exclamation from Higgins
and a crash of glass. Kirk Anthony's face was drenched, his eyes
were filled with a stinging liquid; he felt his prisoner sink
limply back into his arms and beheld Higgins struggling in the
grasp of big Marty Ringold, the foil-covered neck of a wine bottle
in his fingers.
The foolish fellow had been hovering uncertainly round the edges
of the crowd, longing to help his friends and crazily anxious to
win glory by some deed of valor.
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