Most of the fighting inside the house and outside
came quickly to an end, because everybody who fought
was laid out or overpowered. Then several of
the agents of Guffey, who had been studying these Reds
for a year or two and knew them all, went about picking
out the ones who were especially wanted, and searching
them for arms, and then handcuffing them. One
of these men approached Peter, who instantly fell
unconscious, and closed his eyes; then Hammett caught
him under the armpits and Cummings by the feet, and
McGivney walked alongside as a bodyguard, remarking
now and then, “We want this fellow, we’ll
take care of him.”
They carried Peter outside, and in the darkness he
opened his eyes just enough to see that the street
was lined with automobiles, and that the Reds were
being loaded aboard. Peter’s friends carried
him to one car and drove him away, and then Peter
returned to consciousness, and the four of them sat
up and laughed to split their sides, and slapped one
another on the back, and mentioned the satisfactory
things they had seen. Had Hammett noticed that
slice Grady had got over the eyes, and the way the
blood had run all over him? Well, he wanted to
be a Red—they had helped him be one—inside
and out! Had McGivney noticed how “Buck”
Ellis, one of their men, had put the nose of the hobo
poet out of joint? And young Ogden, son of the
president of the Chamber of Commerce, had certainly
managed to show how he felt about these cattle, the
female ones as well as the males; when that Yankovich
slut had slapped his face, he had caught her by the
breasts and nearly twisted them off, and she had screamed
and fainted!
Yes, they had cleaned them out. But that wasn’t
all of it, they were going to finish the job tonight,
by God! They were going to give these pacifists
a taste of the war, they were going to put an end to
the Red Terror in American City! Peter might go
along if he liked and see the good work; they were
going into the country, and it would be dark, and
if he kept a mask on he would be quite safe. And
Peter said yes; his blood was up, he was full of the
spirit of the hunt, he wanted to be in at the death,
regardless of everything.
Section 59
The motor purred softly, and the car sped as if upon
wings thru the suburbs of American City, and to the
country beyond. There were cars in front, and
other cars behind, a long stream of white lights flying
out into the country. They came to a grove of
big pine trees, which rose two or three feet thick,
like church arches, and covered the ground beneath
them with a soft, brown carpet. It was a well-known
picnic place, and here all the cars were gathering
by appointment. Evidently it had all been pre-arranged,
with that efficiency which is the pride of 100% Americans.
A man with a black mask over his face stood in the
center of the grove, and shouted his directions thru
a megaphone, and each car as it swept in ranged itself
Copyrights
100%: the Story of a Patriot from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.