"I think I will take that."
I knew even as I said it that I had cast the die; he held my life
in his hand. It was a simple question of which was the stronger,
and it was already decided. Despite my utmost effort to stay it,
the point of the knife was piercing my skin. The gang stood by,
watching the silent struggle. I knew them--the Why-os, the worst
cutthroats in the city, charged with a dozen murders, and robberies
without end. A human life was to them, in the mood they were
in, worth as much as the dirt under their feet, no more. At that
instant, not six feet behind their backs, Captain McCullagh--the
same who afterward became Chief--turned the corner with his precinct
detective. I gathered all my strength and gave the ruffian's hand
a mighty twist that turned the knife aside. I held it out for
inspection.
"What do you think of it, Cap?"
Four brawny fists scattered the gang to the winds for an answer.
The knife was left in my hand.
They gave me no time to get frightened. Once when I really was
scared, it was entirely my own doing.
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