it whirled from his hand through the air, and striking Clark's cheek, laid it open with quite a ghastly wound. Clark reached over and snatched a slungshot from the grasp of another of the assaulting party. He handed it quickly to his companion.
"Use it for all it's worth," he suggested rapidly. "Don't let them down us, or we're goners."
As he spoke, Clark, nettled with pain, balanced himself on the railing and sent both feet flying into the faces of the onpressing mob. These tactics were wholly unexpected by the enemy. One of their number went reeling back, his nose nearly flattened to his face.
"Rush 'em!" shouted the fellow frantically.
Half-a-dozen of his cohorts sprang up the steps. They managed to grab Ralph's feet. Now it was a pull and a clutch. Ralph realized that if he ever got down into the midst of that surging mob, or under their feet, it would be all over with him.
"It's all up with us!" gasped Clark with a startled stare down the alley. "Fogg, Lemuel Fogg!"
The heart of the young engineer sank somewhat as he followed the direction of his companion's glance. Sure enough, the fireman of No. 999 had put in an appearance on the scene.
"He's coming like a cyclone!" said Clark.
