ed, but he hurried to the
professor's room, telling him to lock the door and keep within till the
storm was over, and then he slipped out of the hotel.

Barney did not hurry toward the jail at once, but he took a roundabout
course, dodging and doubling, to bother any one who might attempt to
follow him.

Finally, having doubled on his own course, he struck out for the jail.

There was a moon, but it was obscured at times by drifting clouds,
something rather unusual in that part of the country for a night that
was not stormy, and did not threaten to become so.

Coming suddenly to the main street of the town, which led straight from
the hotel to the jail, Barney paused and listened.

He heard a sound that caused his heart to beat faster, while he held his
breath and strained his ears.

Tramp! tramp! tramp! It was the swift and steady rush of many feet.

There was no sound of voices, but the crouching boy knew a body of men
was approaching.

Barney drew back, concealing himself as well as he could, and waited.

Nearer and nearer came the sound.

A cloud passed from the face of the moon, and then the watching boy saw
a band of men rushing swiftly past his place of concealment.

The men were masked, and all were armed.

They were moving straight toward the jail.

"Th' lynchers!" panted Barney. "They are afther Frankie! Oi must get to
th' joail ahead av thim!"

He ran back along the side street till he came to another that led in
the same direction as the one along which the mob was rushing. Turning
toward the jail, he ran as he had never ran before in all his life.

On the front door of the jail was a push-button that connected by a wire
with a gong within the building. A push on that button set the gong to
clamoring loudly.

"Rattle-ty-clang-clang! rattle-ty-clang!

"Wa'al, what's thet mean?" growled Hank Kildare, as he leaped up from
the couch on which he had been reclining lazily. "What derned fool is
punchin' away at thet thar button like he hed gone clean daft! Hyar ther
critter ring!"

Kildare looked at his revolvers, then picked up a short-barreled
shotgun, and went out into the corridor that led to the door. Reaching
the door, he shot open a small panel and shouted:

"Whatever do yer think ye're doin' out thar? Will yer stop thet thar
racket, ur shall I guv yer a dost out o' this yar gun!"

"Mr. Kildare, is thot yersilf?" panted a voice, which the sheriff had
heard before, and which he immedi