Chapter XII: The Fight

Harris had looked at his watch when he called out to Whipple that five minutes would be allowed him and Pete to give themselves up.

"While we're waiting to see what they do, inside there," the officer said to Matt, "you go around and tell Sanders the fellows are showing fight, and warn him to be on his guard."

Matt made his way to the corner of the house under the protection of the veranda. Burton, at the first shot from inside, had got behind a tree from which he could command the front entrance and the side of the building he had been instructed to watch.

The young motorist, without being fired at, gained the rear door and told Sanders what had happened around in front. Sanders had heaped up a little pile of stove wood in the form of a breastwork, and was crouching behind it.

"I heard that shot," said he, "and made up my mind we was goin' to have brisk work. There ain't no trees handy, around here, so I did the next best thing an' fortified my position with stove wood. You bet I'll be on the lookout, King! If any man tries to come through that door, I'll drop him in his tracks. I don't know what them skunks think they can do, actin' in this way. We could keep 'em boxed up in there fer a week, if we wanted to, and they're bound to lose out in the end."

Leaving Sanders to watch and wait for developments, Matt started back toward the front of the house. Seeing a garage that Caspar had built for his car, the idea struck him to move over in that direction and look for the stolen automobile. He found the door of the garage locked. As he turned away from it, he saw a square framework of oak planks leaning against the barn. Probably the framework was four feet square. What it had been used for Matt could not guess, but his quick brain instantly devised an idea.

Dragging the framework along with him, he reached the front of the house and found Harris just snapping his watch and returning it to his pocket. The South Chicago man was standing near the tree with Burton.

"The five minutes are up," he remarked, "and here's where we've got to do something. What are you bringing there, Matt?" he asked.

"A portable fort," replied Matt. "You've got to get to the front door, Harris, and you don't want Pete and Whipple making a target of you while you're doing it. After you get close up to the door they won't be able to reach you with their bullets."

"Egol, that's a bright idea! But how's one man going to manage the thing?"

"I'll go along with you. Between the two of us I guess we can handle it."

Holding the framework on edge, Matt and Harris crouched behind it; then, keeping it upright and hauling it along with them, they started across the front of the house toward the steps.

Weapons cracked from the boarded-up windows, and leaden missiles _chugged_ into the stout oak planks. The bullets could not penetrate the heavy oak, and consequently they did no damage. Reaching the steps, Matt and Harris lifted the framework upward a step at a time and finally gained the recess containing the front door. Here they stepped from behind the barricade, and the officer laid hands on the knob and shook the door violently.

"Open!" he cried; "open in the name of the law!"

A taunting laugh from within was his only answer.

"I hate to do any damage to this fine building," said Harris, "but we've got to get in if the scoundrels won't come out. I'll try to smash the lock."

Placing the muzzle of his revolver against the key-hole, he pulled the trigger. The bullet tore its way through the lock, and once again the officer essayed to open the door. But it defied his efforts.

"There must be a bolt in addition to the lock," said he, disappointed. "If we smash in here we'll have to use a battering-ram, and I don't want to do that except as a last resort. We'll look for a ladder and make an attack on one of the windows."

When he and Matt started down the steps with their movable framework, they came nearly getting caught by a drop fire. The shooting was done from the second-story windows, and the bullets came over the top of the oak shield. Fortunately no harm was done, and Matt and Harris tilted the screen so as to cover the tops of their heads.

Just as they reached the bottom of the steps, a fierce yell came from the rear of the house, followed by sounds of firing.

"Sanders is in trouble!" cried Burton, starting to run around the side of the building. "While some of those inside were holding our attention at the front door, an attempt was made to get out at the back."

"You stay here, Burton!" shouted Harris. "They may be trying to draw all of us around behind while they get through the front entrance. Watch the door like a hawk, and I'll go around and help Sanders."

Matt trailed after Harris as he hotfooted it for the back yard. They found Sanders leaning over the top of his woodpile, covering the rear door with his revolver.

"What's the matter?" demanded Harris.

"Nothin' now," Sanders answered grimly. "It's all over. One of 'em pulled the kitchen door open an' was plannin' to make a break. I discouraged the attempt an' the man jumped back and slammed the door."

Harris leaped to the door, put a bullet into the lock and then tried to push into the house. But this door, like the one in front, had other fastenings than the lock, and the attempt was fruitless. Harris beat a retreat as soon as he found out the effort could not succeed. Several bullets followed his retreat, coming from the windows, and one of them pierced his helmet and flung the head-piece to the ground.

"They're getting real savage," remarked Sanders grimly. "If they don't look out they'll hurt somebody."

"It will make it all the worse for them, if they do," snapped Harris, his temper rising with each succeeding failure to get into the house. "We'll get a stick of cordwood and smash in this back door."

There was a pile of cordwood near the garage, and Harris ran and got a heavy, four-foot section of elm. Matt jumped to help him.

"You'd better take Sanders' gun and stay behind the woodpile, Matt," said Harris, "and let Sanders and me do this. There'll be more shooting and----"

"Sanders will watch the door better than I can," broke in Matt, laying hold of one end of the heavy stick.

"All right," acquiesced Harris, and they ran at the door.

The shooting continued, but it was plain that the men in the house were not in good range, for their ammunition was wasted.

The end of the stick of wood crashed into the door and set it to shaking. A second blow still further loosened it, and a third sent it smashing inward.

The giving 'way of the door under the impact threw both Harris and Matt from their feet, and the two of them, with the stick, tumbled into the kitchen.

Matt, quick as a cat to regain his feet, saw Whipple and Pete bearing down on Harris with clubs. The officer lay on the floor, half stunned. Grabbing him by the feet, Matt jerked him back to safety, followed by a torrent of oaths from the two fugitives.

The door slammed. While Harris was getting to his feet, Pete and Whipple could be heard piling things against the door on the inside.

"Wow, this head!" exclaimed Harris, lifting one hand to his temples. "It hasn't got over that first jolt, yet, and here it gets another. And we didn't gain much, at that."

"We haven't got a strong enough force to rush into the house," said Sanders. "If it hadn't been for King, Harris, you'd have been captured by those fellows, and then Burton and I would have had to send for help before we could do anything more. You've got to be more careful, or the gang will escape in spite of us."

"I'm beginning to see that, myself. But we can't lay around here with our hands in our pockets. If----"

"Hist!" interrupted Matt, in an excited whisper.

"Don't look up, Harris. Miss Brady is on the roof and just looked over and waved her hand."

"Great Scott!" muttered Harris. "What do you think that means?"

"It means that she has been able to free herself, in some way, and get to the top of the house. Now's our chance to rescue her and get her out of this fighting."

"How's it to be done? There ain't ladders enough to reach to the roof, and Pete and Whipple wouldn't give us a chance to use them even if there were."

"We can't use ladders, and we can't let any of those in the house know by our actions that there's anyone on the roof. The instant they think Miss Brady is up there, they'll make a rush for the top of the house and drag her back inside. Don't look up, whatever you do."

"But we've got to get the girl off the roof, in some way."

"I'll use the air ship----"

"That's a scheme for your life!" exclaimed Harris.

"But while I'm using the Hawk," went on Matt, speaking quickly, "you and Sanders and Burton must contrive to keep everyone in the house occupied on the lower floor."

"We can do that. We'll blaze away at the boards at the windows. That will keep their attention below."

"You'd better go and tell Burton what our plan is. If he should see Miss Brady he'd be liable to yell to us, and that would let Pete and Whipple know what's up."

"They'll probably suspect something when they see the air ship coming."

"I don't think so. Besides, if you keep them busy enough, the chances are that the Hawk won't be seen."

"If you _are_ seen, Matt, you'll surely be shot at--and the Hawk's a pretty big target. If a bullet is put into the gas bag, or if one smashes into the motor, you and the girl may be killed."

"I think I can make it," said Matt resolutely. "Anyhow, I'm going to try."

"Good luck to you!" returned Harris warmly. "I'll go at once and put Burton next."

While the officer moved toward the front of the house, Matt started for the rear of the yard on his way back to the air ship.