His filthy hand was raised to her neck.

Even as he touched her, Lane, with a roar of anger, sent one of his guards flying on to the floor of the barn, and, snatching the gun from his hand, sprang forward.
"Come on, you fellows!" he shouted, bringing it down suddenly upon the hand of the robber.

"These things aren't loaded.

There's only one of these blackguards with a revolver." [Illustration: "Come on, you fellows!" he shouted.] "And I've got him!" Hunterleys, who had been watching Lane closely, cried, suddenly swinging his arm around the man's neck and knocking his revolver up.
There was a yell of pain from the man with the jewels, whose wrist Lane had broken, a howl of dismay from the others--pandemonium.
"At 'em, Freddy!" Lane shouted, seizing the nearest of his assailants by the neck and throwing him out into the darkness.

"To hell with you!" he added, just escaping a murderous blow and driving his fist into the face of the man who had aimed it.