For a breath there was stillness, then pandemonium--a sudden burst of
action following on a moment of paralysis, an explosion of sound and
movement. It all came together--the breaking in of the door, the
rat-like rush of the men, the crash of falling furniture, of shivered
glass, of dark, scrambling figures, and the blinding flash of a
revolver. The Chinaman's face, ape-like in its terror, showed above the
blankets of his bunk, Knapp lay on the ground caught by the falling
table, and in the window jagged edges of glass and a trail of blood on
the sill showed the way Garland had gone. In the doorway the sheriff
stood with his leveled revolver, while the voices and trampling of men
came from the shrubs outside.




CHAPTER XV

THE LAST DINNER


It was depressing weather, rain, rain, and then again rain. For two weeks
now, off and on, people had looked out through windows lashed with fine
spears or glazed with watery skins which endlessly slipped down the pane.
Muddy pools collected and spread across the street, the cars that drove
through them sending the water in fan-like spurts from their wheels. Down
the high, cobbled hills rivulets felt their way and grass sprouted
between the granite blocks. A gray wall shut in the city, which showed
dimly under the downpour, gardens blossoming, roof shining beyond roof,
wet wall dripping on wet wall.