Jeff's answer rang through the burning structure with all the power of
his lungs.
"The door! Bust it! Quick, Bud! Bust it, an' stand clear!"
For answer there was a crash on the woodwork outside. He waited for no
more. With a wild rush through the blinding, choking fog of smoke he
charged down the room. With all his might he flung the blazing
palliasse from his scorched hands. He had no idea of the direction in
which it went. His one desire now was to reach the door as it gave
under the sledge-hammer attacks of the men outside.
He heard a crash and rending of woodwork. He could see nothing. He
was incapable of further effort. The end had come all too soon. He
staggered blindly, helplessly. His tottering limbs gave under him.
Suffocation gripped him by the throat. He was conscious of the rush of
a figure toward him. The sound of his name shrieked in a woman's
voice. Then there were shots fired. He heard them. And it seemed
there were many of them, and the sound was blurred, and vague, and
distant from his ears.
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