Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1903-05-13

toll. He did not want to use IL as
long as he had been in the saloon,
for he knew very well that if he had
killed anybody the mob would have
torn him to pieces with joyous unan-
unity; and in his effort to escape he
had for the time forgotten it. 1t
was now his only hope unless Fen
ton should come to his assistance.
He turned about upon the pile on
which he was standing so as to con-
front his adversary. The latter was
approaching him confidently and res
olutely. His one grim object was the
death of the reporter.
The shadowy houses on the shore
were rising and falling as if they
were about to plunge into the stream.
The silver lines of light played over
the face of the water. He could see
the great steamboats,. with their red
and green lights and their trailing
banners of black smoke, rounding the
bends or putting into the wharf All
else was silence. Even the crowd of
reckless criminals, craning their
neclis from the back door, were
dumb with excitement as they whit
ed the duel between the men upon
these black stumps.
The stars were silent, and they
were cold. too. Warde felt that they
did not care.
In his eagerness to get out his
pistol, his hand trembled so that the
weapon, catching in his clothing,
slipped and fell into the river.
Where could Fenton be, he won
dered in vague way? Had he en-
tered the Rest and been disposed Of?
Warde called to him several times,
but received no response; but he had
no time now to look toward the
shore. Old Tom was nearly upon
him, and he determined that if he
had to die, it should only be after
game fight. He braced himself
as firmly as he could upon his pile,
prepared to use his fists upon his APP
proaching antagonist, and drag him
down to death with him
Old Tom had just lighted on the
PiiG uCAI W lilill ulltl WAS
ready to leap.
A pistol shot broke upon the air,
the cleaning knife dropped into the
stream and Old Tom gave terrible
cry of mingled pain and disgust, and
then crouched down and held to his
pile to prevent himself from falling
into the river, but his strength was
not great enough, and he slipped into
the swirling water and was dragged
away from sight.
In the meantime skiff which had
been moored on the bank just under
the rear of the Rest was pushed out
from shore, and in n few seconds
Fenton had Warde safely within it.
Getting outside the line of piles, Fen
ton began to pull away. 1t was n
shrewd move on his part, for the
crowd within the saloon had surged
back through the front door, and Bill
McGee could be heard calling for his
slSiff. Then followed mingled cries
of rage and disappointment, and
when the boat was detected moving
away beyond the row of piles, num-
Der of scattering shots We're fred.
Fenton stopped long enough to fire
back at the crowd and as it turned
out, casually shot away small Sec
ton of Mr.. McGee's nose. Then he
bent to the oars with all his might
and pulled for the wharf, which was
about mile away. 1t did not take
him long to get beyond the range of
the strange shots that were sent
Sizing after him.
Warde was completely exhausted
by the tense strain upon his physical
and nervous system. and he lay in
the bottom of the boat in a sort of
stuper. Gradually, as they APP
preached the wharf. and as he real
lied that he had, indeed. escaped with
his life, his faculties began to fully
assert themselves.
When they reached the wharf, and
he began to feel more like himself,
he gave Fenton an account of his
adventures. The latter was profuse
in his regrets that he had not gone
to Warde's help sooner; but he ex-
planned that as he had not heard
the whistle, he concluded that the
noise in the saloon was only some
extra Publication on the part of the
Bacchanals inside. He had heard the
cry for help, and ran down to the