The MacGregor held his fingers there, eying the unwavering blue barrel steadily. He kept his pipe going. Bransford could not withhold his admiration for such surly, indomitable courage. Making a wary circuit to the rear of the defeated warrior, and keeping him covered, he gingerly reached forth to take the MacGregor gun. “Now you can take ’em down. Come on, boys--all clear!” he said, raising his voice. Sound of running feet from above; the outer door smashed open. Mac flung his hat over to Jeff and sat glowering in wordless rage. Footsteps hurried down the stairs and the passageway. An ax hewed at the door. It crashed in; Pringle, gun in hand, burst through the splintered woodwork; the others pressed behind. John Wesley leaned upon his ax, fumbled at his coat pocket, and extended the famous leather bottle: “Well, Brutus, old pal, we meet again! Shall we smile?” Chapter XV “If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hanged.” --_Falstaff._ “At the envoy’s end, I touch!” --_Cyrano._ “Now, we must get to work,” said Jeff, after hurried mutual explanations. “The natural impulse is to throw the customs house into the river, to link arms and walk up Main Street, five abreast, pushing the policemen off of the curb, raising our feet high and bringing them down ker-smack--hay-foot, straw-foot, right foot, left: now is the time for all good men--and the rest of it. But, perhaps, it wouldn’t be wise. We’ve got to catch Thorpe off his guard--and that may be hard to do----” Wes’ pulled him down and whispered in his ear. Jeff’s face became radiant. “And after we have him safe we’ll get the others. Let’s go down to the bank and steal a boat. Boys, this is Mr. MacGregor. We’ll take him with us. Mac, you’d better tie a handkerchief around your head. You’ll take cold.” “Ye canna take a man from Mexico without extradeetion papers. It’s fair keednappin’,” said Mac with a leer. “So we can’t, so we can’t,” said Jeff pleasantly. “Not live men. Go first. If you don’t come quietly----” “Dinna tell me,” said the MacGregor scornfully. “Would I no have done as much for you? But let me tell you one thing--and that is that ye are showing small thanks to Thorpe for sparing your life.” “Fudge! I didn’t ask him for my life and I owe him no gratitude,” said Jeff. “It was a square contract. I was to hang him if I could escape--and I had practically escaped when he agreed to it, except for the mere detail of time. I am doing nothing unfair. Go on!” “You’re right, ’twas a contract--I’ll say nae mair,” admitted Mac grudgingly, and went up the stair. Once on the street, however, he paused. “Mr. Bransford, there have been kindly passages atween us. Let me have a word more.” “Well?” said Jeff.