"Put it up," said Curly, with the anger of his disappointment. They waited and listened; the switchman’s voice was heard no more; he must have gone away. "He’ll blow us to the railroad coppers. Now’s our only chance!" They went to the door, leaped out, bent their heads and ran. And instantly, with the howl of the hunter, the men in the lumber-yard, not knowing Archie or Curly or what they had done, or whether they had done anything, left their work and ran after them, raising the old hue and cry of English justice. Even the engines in the yards joined by sounding sharp, angry blasts on their whistles, and behind the little group that was rapidly becoming a mob, raced the switchman with two of the railroad’s detectives. As swiftly as they could, in their stiffness and their hunger and their cold, Archie and Curly ran down the long yards, over cinders and uneven ties. They ran for a quarter of a mile and the yard narrowed, the tracks began to converge, to unite, marking the beginning of the main line. On either side rose the clayey banks, ahead there was a narrow cut with an elevated crossing; near this was a switchman’s shanty. Just then something sang over their heads, a musical humming sound. They knew the sound a bullet makes and dodged into the switchman’s shanty, slammed the door behind them, locked it and, a moment later, were at bay with the mob. The crowd surged up to the very door, flung itself against the shanty. Then Curly called: "Stand back!" The cry of the crowd was given in a lower, angrier tone; again it hurled itself against the door, and the little shanty, painted in the yellow and white of the railroad, rocked. Another shot pierced the shanty, splintering the boards above their heads. Then Archie stepped to the little window, thrust out his revolver. There was an angry cry outside, then stillness; the crowd gave way, withdrew, and kept its distance. "Don’t push the rod!" Curly commanded. "What in hell ails you?" "Oh, sin not leery! I’ll plug ’em for keeps!" Curly looked into Archie’s white face. "Are the bulls tailing on?" he asked. "They’re coming strong! Listen!" "We’d better cave!" urged Curly. "Like hell!" Archie replied. "They don’t drop me without a muss now. If you want to flunk--" Curly’s face flamed and his little eyes pierced Archie. "Look out, young fellow!" he said, taking a sudden step toward him. Archie looked at him with a sneer. Then Curly stopped. "Look here, Dutch," he said. "Don’t be a fool. We’re--" "I’ve told you what I’ll do," said Archie, all the dogged stubbornness of his nature aroused. Then Curly seemed to lose interest. Outside they could hear the crowd again. Half an hour passed. They heard the clang of a gong in the near-by street. "The pie wagon," said Curly. Archie was quiet. There was a cheer, then a voice, deep, commanding and official: "Surrender in the name of the law!" Curly looked a question at Archie.