planned plot. You, and your confederate, have coolly robbed Beaucaire,
and propose to get away with the spoils. Perhaps you will, but that
end will not be accomplished through any assistance of mine. At first
I only felt a slight interest in the affair, but from now on I am going
to fight you fellows with every weapon I possess."

Kirby chuckled, apparently greatly amused.

"Quite glad, I am sure, for the declaration of war. Fighting has
always agreed with me. Might I ask the nature of those weapons?"

"That remains for you to discover," I ejaculated sharply, exasperated
by his evident contempt. "Carver, take your dirty hands off of me."

In spite of the fact of their threat, the ready pistol pressing against
my ribs, the grip of Carver's fingers at my throat, I did not
anticipate any actual assault. That either would really dare injure me
seemed preposterous. Indeed my impression was, that Kirby felt such
indifference toward my attempt to block his plan, that he would permit
me to pass without opposition--certainly without the slightest resort
to violence. The action of the two was so swift, so concerted, as
though to some secret signal, that, almost before I realized their
purpose, they held me helplessly struggling, and had forced me back
against the low rail. Here I endeavored to break away, to shout an
alarm, but was already too late. Carver's hands closed remorselessly
on my throat, and, when I managed to strike out madly with one free
fist, the butt of Kirby's pistol descended on my head, so lacerating my
scalp the dripping blood blinded my eyes. The blow partially stunned
me, and I half fell, clutching at the rail, yet dimly conscious that
the two straining men were uplifting my useless body. Carver swearing