ade a significant gesture to Slosson as Yancy
drained his glass.

"Have a drink with me!" cried Slosson, giving way to drunken laughter.

"Don't you reckon you'll spite yo' appetite fo' breakfast, neighbor?"
suggested Yancy.

"Do you mean you won't drink with me?" roared Slosson.

"The captain's dropped out and I 'low it's about time fo' these here
festivities to come to an end. I'm thinking some of going to bed
myself," said Yancy. He kept his eyes fixed on Murrell. He realized
that if the latter could prevent it he was not to leave the bar. Murrell
stood between him and the door; more than this, he stood between him and
his rifle, which leaned against the wall in the far corner of the room.
Slosson roared out a protest to his words. "That's all right, neighbor,"
retorted Yancy over his shoulder, "but I'm going to bed." He never
shifted his glance from Murrell's face. Scowling now, the captain's eyes
blazed back their challenge as he thrust his right hand under his coat.
"Fair play--I don't know who you are, but I know what you want!" said
Yancy, the light in his frank gray eyes deepening. Murrell laughed and
took a forward step. At the same moment Slosson snatched up a heavy club
from back of the bar and dealt Yancy a murderous blow. A single startled
cry escaped the Scratch Hitler; he struck out wildly as he lurched
toward Murrell, who drew his knife and drove it into his shoulder.

Groping wildly, Yancy reached his rifle and faced about. His scalp
lay open where Slosson's treacherous blow had fallen and his face was
covered with blood; even as his fingers stiffened they found the hammer,
but Murrell, springing forward, kicked the gun out of his hands. Dashing
the blood from his eyes, Yancy threw himself on Murrell. Then, as
they staggered to and fro, Yancy dully bent on strangling his enemy,
Slosson--whom the sight of blood had wonderfully sobered--rushed out
from the bar and let loose a perfect torrent of blows with his club.
Murrell felt the fingers that gripped him grow weak, and Yancy dropped
heavily to the floor.

How long the boy slept he never knew, but he awoke with a start and a
confused sense of things. He seemed to have heard a cry for help. But
the tavern was very silent now. The distant murmur of voices and the
shouts of laughter had ceased. He lifted himself up on his elbow
and glanced from the window. The heavens were pale and gray. It was
evidently very late, probably long after midnight but