“He’s out of shells!” shouted a low, hard voice that made Kurt leap.  He welcomed the rush of dark forms, and, swinging the gun round his head, made ready to brain the first antagonist who neared him.  But some one leaped upon him from behind.  The onslaught carried him to his knees.  Bounding up, he broke the gun stock on the head of his assailant, who went down in a heap.  Kurt tried to pull his revolver.  It became impossible, owing to strong arms encircling him.  Wrestling, he freed himself, only to be staggered by a rush of several men, all pouncing upon him at once.  Kurt went down, but, once down, he heaved so powerfully that he threw off the whole crew.  Up again, like a cat, he began to fight.  Big and strong and swift, with fists like a blacksmith’s, Kurt bowled over this assailant and that one.  He thought he recognized Glidden in a man who kept out of his reach and who was urging on the others.  Kurt lunged at him and finally got his hands on him.  That was fatal for Kurt, because in his fury he forgot Glidden’s comrades.  In one second his big hand wrenched a yell of mortal pain out of Glidden; then a combined attack of the others rendered Kurt powerless.  A blow on the head stunned him—­made all dark.

CHAPTER XV

It seemed that Kurt did not altogether lose consciousness, for he had vague sensations of being dragged along the ground.  Presently the darkness cleared from his mind and he opened his eyes.  He lay on his back.  Looking up, he saw stars through the thin, broken clouds of smoke.  A huge pile of railroad ties loomed up beside him.

He tried to take note of his situation.  His hands were tied in front of him, not so securely, he imagined, that he could not work them free.  His legs had not been tied.  Both his head and shoulder, on the left side, pained him severely.  Upon looking around, Kurt presently made out the dark form of a man.  He appeared rigid with attention, but that evidently had no relation to Kurt.  The man was listening and watching for his comrades.  Kurt heard no voices or shots.  After a little while, however, he thought he heard distant footsteps on the gravel.  He hardly knew what to make of his predicament.  If there was only one guard over him, escape did not seem difficult, unless that guard had a gun.

“Hello, you!” he called.

“Hello, yourself” replied the man, jerking up in evident surprise.

“What’s your name?” inquired Kurt, amiably.

“Well, it ain’t J.J.  Hill or Anderson,” came the gruff response.

Kurt laughed.  “But you would be one of those names if you could, now wouldn’t you?” went on Kurt.

“My name is Dennis,” gloomily returned the man.

“It certainly is. That is the name of all I.W.W.’s,” said Kurt.

“Say, are you the fellow who had the shot-gun?”

“I sure am,” replied Kurt.

“I ought to knock you on the head.”