Chip, his head covered with a bandage, and still somewhat
confused, recognized his comrade as he entered the
room. His mind was clear enough, however, to
appreciate the situation, when the terror-stricken
hag, pointing her long skinny finger at him, quivered
in a tremulous voice: “He’s alive;
don’t you see he’s alive?”
Overjoyed at finding Chip safe and still alive, Sam
clasped his hands.
“Can you walk, Chip?” he asked,
“I don’t know, Sam. I had a devilish
close call,” and Chip threw back the covers
and essayed to step from the bed. His limbs trembled,
and throwing up his hands despairingly, he sank back
again. A flask of brandy stood on the table,
and in an instant Sam had the cork out and had poured
some of its contents down his friend’s throat.
The generous fluid warmed the blood and revived the
strength of the wounded detective, who, making another
attempt, stood on his feet.
Throwing his arm around Chip’s waist, Sam bade
the thoroughly cowed woman to go before him, and was
moving slowly to the door when a sharp, stern voice
commanded;
“Stop!”
The detectives looked up, and standing in the open
door, a revolver in each hand, stood Jim Cummings.
A midnight flight.
The two detectives were in a tight fix.
One of them sorely wounded; the other, handicapped
by his almost helpless comrade, would stand small
chance against the burly man who checked their path.
But Sam, who was nearly as large in build as was his
opponent, and in an even fight, would not have hesitated
to bear down upon him, slipped his arm from around
Chip, and prepared himself for a desperate struggle.
As his arm passed his side pocket, he felt his revolver.
Keeping Chip before him, he slipped his hand onto
it, and drew it out, Chip keeping Cummings from observing
the movements. The scent of approaching danger
had acted on Chip as a strong restorative, and his
eyes met those of his late captor unflinchingly as
he cried:
“We know you now, Jim Cummings; you’ve
betrayed yourself,” and Chip again looked at
the triangular gold which his parted lips disclosed
on one of his teeth.
Up to this moment the desperado had imagined himself
to be unknown, but at the words Chip uttered, he started,
and with eyes burning with rage, and features twitching
with fury, he turned to Nance, who, still under the
spell of complete terror, was huddled in a corner,
her hands over her face, not daring to meet the outlaw’s
eye.
“Ah,” he hissed, “you did this,”
and like a flash his revolver covered her, and the
whip-like report rang out. The answering voice
of Sam’s pistol echoed the first, and when the
smoke had lifted, Cummings had disappeared.
Without stopping to look after the hag, Sam lifted
Chip in his arms, and hastily descended the stairs,
It was dark when the alley was reached, and slowly
walking to the corner, a hack was called and the two
friends drove rapidly towards Sam’s boarding-place.
