kward, but stood their
ground, muttering. In a moment--he knew what would happen. He could
read it in their faces, could sense it in their low, rumbling tones.
And so he shouted to them again, his voice ringing clear above their
mutterings.

"I drop the first man that takes a step this way!"

Tense, anxious, watchful, he waited. He saw hesitation, but saw, too,
that the hesitation was momentary, that it would be followed by a
blind rush if he could not drive fear into their hearts. And he
realized with a sick sinking of his own heart that there was little
fear in men like these.

"It looks like an end of things for Greek Conniston," he muttered,
dully.

His watchful eyes saw a little commotion upon the fringe of the knot
of men who had moved a little toward the tent. He saw one of the men
step out quickly and raise a big revolver. The man, as he lifted the
revolver, fired, not seeming to aim. The bullet struck one of the
front wheels of Conniston's wagon. Almost at the same second Conniston
fired. Fired and missed, and fired again. With the second report came
a shrill cry from the man with the revolver, and Conniston saw him
stagger, drop his gun, wheel half around, and fall. And where he fell
he lay, writhing and calling out to his fellows.

For a moment the others hung back, hesitating. The man upon the ground
lifted himself upon an elbow, glared at Conniston, and began to crawl
slowly back toward the tent. Obviously, he had been struck in the
thigh or side. The man who had shot him, and who was new to this sort
of work, thanked God that he had not killed the fellow outright.

The next moment he forgot him entirely. Ben and Mundy were a pace or
two in front of their men, who from force of habit had begun to flock
toward their daily leaders. They were talking earnestly, their voices
lowered so that the pressing forms about them had to crane their necks
to listen.

Still the whisky-barrel stood scarcely more than touched. Conniston,
seeing that as long as it stood there he could hope to do nothing
toward a restoration of order, emptied the magazine of his rifle into
it. He saw the splinters fly, saw that the bullets had torn great
holes into the hard wood, heard the snapping of oaths from those of
the men who had drunk only enough to arouse their thirst, and began
slipping fresh cartridges into the magazine.

"There'll be precious little of that stuff left, anyway," he grunted,
with grim satisfaction.

He h