for a moment on the top step.

A stiff blow caught the deputy's chin, and he staggered. With a quick
motion Mallory whipped out a pair of handcuffs. There was a flash of steel
as he drew back his arm, then the maddened rough went down in a heap, a
stream of blood flowing from his head. One of the others, a red-haired
man, gripped the handcuffs and fought for them. It all happened in an
instant, and as Harvey stood half-dazed, he heard a breathless
exclamation, and Jim had sprung forward.

Some persons might have thought Jim Weeks fat. He weighed two hundred and
forty pounds, but he was tall and wide in the shoulder. On ordinary
occasions his face was so composed as to appear almost cold-blooded, but
now it was fairly livid. Harvey drew in his breath with surprise; he had
seen Jim angry, but never like this. In three strides Jim was behind the
red-haired man. He threw an arm around the man's neck, jerking his chin up
with such force that his body bent backward, and relinquishing his hold on
the handcuffs he clutched, gasping, at Jim's arm. But the arm gripped like
iron. While Mallory was pulling himself together and turning to aid the
deputy, Jim walked backward, dragging the struggling man to the head of
the stairs. On the top step he paused to grip the man's trousers with his
other hand, then he literally threw the fellow downstairs. Bruised and
battered, he lay for a moment on the landing, then he struggled to his
feet and moved his arm toward his hip pocket, but Jim was ready. The
breathless President started down the stairs with a rush. For an instant
the man wavered, then he broke and fled into the train shed.

On his return Jim had to step aside to avoid another ruffian, who was
walking down with profane mutterings. This time Harvey had a hand in the
fighting, and he leaned over the railing to answer the man's oaths with a