The foreman of the Running Water was a formidable-looking man.

He was tall and sinewy, with a seamed and scarred face, a map of many
battles with the elements, the wild animals of mountain and plain, and
with his fellow men.

He was heavily armed, and the town gamblers knew him for a bad fighter
when he was aroused.

"Stick fer ther big show," he said to Ted, who was standing beside him.
"I've got the boys bunched back there on the edge of the crowd. When it
comes to a show-down we'll all be here. But it's no place fer wimmin an'
children."

"I don't want to get into a fight if we can help it," said Ted.

"Yer ain't afraid o' these cattle, aire ye?" asked the foreman, looking
at Ted curiously, but with a shade of disappointment in his eyes.

"Not for a minute," said Ted, throwing a straight glance into the
other's eyes. "There's nothing to be afraid of, that I can see. But
what's the use if we can get at it in some other way?"

"Well, I reckon yer right, bub," said the other slowly. "Some one is
shore liable ter git hurt. But I'd sooner see ther whole crowd hurt than
have this bunch o' thieves git away with their game."

"They won't do that. Never fear."

The crowd was now watching the men in the judges' stand.

Evidently Ben and Shan Rhue were wrestling in spirit with the third
judge, who was still wavering. He knew that the right was with Ben, but
he was afraid of the big bully Shan, and the gamblers, who were most in
evidence.

He did not know that the cow-punchers and the townspeople who had bet on
Hatrack were being organized on the outskirts of the crowd, and that Kit
and Clay and the other broncho boys were with them to direct them to the
attack when it might seem necessary to assert their rights.

Suddenly there was a roar from the crowd. Shan Rhue had struck Ben
Tremont a staggering blow. They heard Ben let out a roar like a wounded
bull, as he threw the great bulk of his body upon the man who had struck
him.

Now they were wrestling, and the frail stand in which they were,
fifteen feet above the ground, swayed with their struggle.

"Kill him!" shouted the gamblers.

"Throw him down here!"

"Let us finish him!"

"Stay with him, Shan!"

These and other cries and threats were shouted by the mob. But Ted
Strong said nothing. He was watching the struggle intently and quietly.

He had no fear but that Ben would be able to hold his own. His great
strength hardly matched that of Shan Rhue,