"Pitch up!" the "bad man" was shrieking, "Pitch up! yu' ----s!--That
d----d Blake--that d----d Gully! Stealin' my hawss away'f me an' gittin'
me fined! I'll git back at somebody fur this! _Pleece_! yes!--yeh kin
holler '_Pleece_!'--Let me get th' drop on th' red-coated, yelluh-laigged
sons of ----! Ah-hh!"--His eyes glittered with his insane passion, "Here
they come! Now! watch th' ----s try an' arrest me!"

Fairly frothing at the mouth, the man, at that moment working himself
into a frenzy, was plainly as dangerous as a mad dog. Drunk though he
undoubtedly was, he did not stagger as he stepped to and fro with
cat-like activity, his gun levelled at the policemen's heads. It was an
ugly situation. Slavin and his men taken utterly by surprise hesitated,
as well they might; for a single attempt to draw their sidearms might
easily bring inglorious death upon one or another of them.

We have noted that on a previous occasion Redmond demonstrated his
ability to think and act quickly. He upheld that reputation now. Like a
flash he ducked behind Slavin's broad shoulders and backed into the
passage. Picking up at random the first missile available--to wit--an
empty soda-water bottle, he tip-toed swiftly along the passage to a door
opening into the bar lower down. This practically brought him
broadside-on to his man. A moment he peered and judged his distance
then, drawing back his arm he flung the bottle with all his force. At
McGill he had been a base-ball pitcher of some renown, so his aim was
true. The bottle caught its objective full in the ear. With a scream of
pain the man staggered forward and clutched with one hand at his head,
his gun still in his grip sagging floorwards.

Instantly then, Yorke, who was the nearest, sprang at him like a tiger