Barney Mulloy heard a hissing noise, and then he leaped forward and caught up the nozzle of the hose. He turned the large stop-cock, and a bar of water shot out, striking the leader of the lynchers in the neck, and hurling him, gasping and stunned, back into the arms of those behind. "Hurro!" trumpeted the Irish lad, in delight, his blood aroused. "Come on, an' git washed off th' face av th' earth!" This method of defense proved unpleasantly surprising to the attacking party. The stream of water swept men off their feet and flung them, half-drowned, back from the doorway into the night. In less than half a minute Barney had cleared the doorway. "Hurro!" he shouted, once more. "This is th' kind av sport! We'll howld th' fort till th' last drop av warther is gone!" There was a lull, and Hank Kildare came panting to the side of the lad with the hose. When he saw the broken door an exclamation of dismay came from the lips of the sheriff. "Something wuz ther matter, so I couldn't turn ther water on," he said. "An' now they've got ther door down!" "But Oi bate 'em off!" shouted the Irish lad, triumphantly. "They'll come in when ther water fails." Barney had not thought of that, and his feeling of triumph turned to anxiety and dismay. "Pwhat kin we do?" "Where is Gilson?" "Th' spalpane run whin the dure wur broke." "We might fight, but what if we did shoot down a few o' ther critters? It w'u'dn't stop 'em, an' we'd hev killed somebody. Stay hyar--hold 'em back long as yer kin." "Pwhat are ye goin' ter do?" "Git ther prisoner up onter ther roof. Mebbe we kin hold 'em back from gittin' up thar." "All roight. Oi'll do me bist here." Kildare ran back along the corridor and disappeared. Of a sudden rocks began to whistle about Barney's head, and then one struck him, knocking him down. The nozzle of the hose fell from his hands, and he lay prone and motionless on the floor. Wild yells of savage delight broke from the mob. Then, with a clatter of hoofs, a band of masked horsemen came tearing down the street, whirled into the open space before the jail, and began shooting into the mob. The horsemen were dressed in black, and every man was masked. "It's Black Harry's Braves!" screamed a voice that was full of fear. Twenty voices took up the cry, and the mob, utterly demoralized, broke and ran in all directions. Some of the masked horsemen sprang from their animals and dashed into the jail, springing over the prostrate body of the unconscious Irish lad. Kildare was removing Frank from his cell when those masked men came upon them. In a moment the boy had been torn from the sheriff, and the men whirled him away. Out of the jail rushed Black Harry's Braves, the boy was placed astride a horse, and away they went, with him in their midst. Frank had believed them lynchers, and he thought them lynchers as they bore him away. "It's all up with me," he mentally said.