stood then in meek surrender
before this soft-voiced master. A tremor swept the honest rugged face of
Buck Benson as heart thus called to heart. But his keen eyes flitted to
Snake le Vasquez.

"Now, curse you, viper that you are, you shall fight me, by heaven! in
American fashion, man to man, for, foul though you be, I hesitate to put
a bullet through your craven heart."

The beautiful girl shivered with new apprehension, the eyes of Snake le
Vasquez glittered with new hope. He faced his steely eyed opponent for
an instant only, then with a snarl like that of an angry beast sprang
upon him. Benson met the cowardly attack with the flash of a powerful
fist, and the outlaw fell to the floor with a hoarse cry of rage and
pain. But he was quickly upon his feet again, muttering curses, and
again he attacked his grim-faced antagonist. Quick blows rained upon his
defenseless face, for the strong, silent man was now fairly aroused. He
fought like a demon, perhaps divining that here strong men battled for
a good woman's love. The outlaw was proving to be no match for his
opponent. Arising from the ground where a mighty blow had sent him, he
made a lightning-like effort to recover the knife which Benson had taken
from him.

"Have a care!" cried the girl in quick alarm. "That fiend in human form
would murder you!"

But Buck Benson's cool eye had seen the treachery in ample time. With
a muttered "Curse you, fiend that you are!" he seized the form of the
outlaw in a powerful grasp, raised him high aloft as if he had been but
a child, and was about to dash him to the ground when a new voice
from the doorway froze him to immobility. Statute-like he stood there,
holding aloft the now still form of Snake le Vasquez.

The voice from the doorway betrayed deep amazement and the profoundest
irritation:

"Merton Gill, what in the sacred name of Time are you meanin' to do
with that dummy? For the good land's sake! Have you gone plumb crazy, or
what? Put that thing down!"

The newcomer was a portly man of middle age dressed in ill-fitting
black. His gray hair grew low upon his brow and he wore a parted beard.

The conqueror of Snake le Vasquez was still frozen, though he had
instantly ceased to be Buck Benson, the strong, silent, two-gun man of
the open spaces. The irritated voice came again:

"Put that dummy down, you idiot! What you think you're doin', anyway?
And say, what you got that other one in here for, when it ought to be