ing with a vicious smack! in the sudden
silence that had fallen, and Owen crumpled and sank to the floor in an
inert heap.

Sanderson was bending over him, preparing to carry him to his room,
when there came an interruption. A big man, with a drawn six-shooter,
stepped to Sanderson's side. A dozen more shoved forward and stood
near him, the crowd moving back, Sanderson sensed the movement and
stood erect, leaving Owen still on the floor. One look at the hostile
faces around him convinced Sanderson that the men were there by design.

He grinned mirthlessly into the face of the man with the drawn pistol.

"Frame-up, eh?" he said. "What's the game?"

"You're wanted for drawin' a gun on Dave Silverthorn--in his office.
I'm a deputy sheriff, an' I've got a warrant for you. Want to see it?"

Sanderson did not answer. Here was a manifestation of Dale's power and
cupidity.

The charge was a mere subterfuge, designed to deprive him of his
liberty. Sanderson had no intention of submitting.

The deputy saw resistance in the gleam of Sanderson's eyes, and he
spoke sharply, warningly:

"Don't try any funny business; I've a dozen men here!"

Sanderson laughed in his face. He lunged forward, striking bitterly
with the movement. The deputy's body doubled forward--Sanderson's fist
had been driven into his stomach. His gun clattered to the floor; he
reached out, trying to grasp Sanderson, who evaded him and struck
upward viciously.

The deputy slid to the floor, and Sanderson stood beside the table, his
gun menacing the deputy's followers.

Sanderson had worked fast. Possibly the deputy's men had anticipated
no resistance from Sanderson, or they had been stunned with the
rapidity with which he had placed their leader out of action.

Not one of them had drawn a weapon. They watched Sanderson silently as
he began to back away from them, still covering them with his pistol.

Sanderson had decided to desert Owen; the man had proved a traitor, and
could not expect any consideration. Owen might talk--Sanderson
expected he would talk; but he did not intend to jeopardize his liberty
by staying to find out.

He stepped backward cautiously, for he saw certain of the men begin to
move restlessly. He cautioned them, swinging the muzzle of his pistol
back and forth, the crowd behind him splitting apart as he retreated.

He had gone a dozen steps when someone tripped him. He fell backward,
landing on his shoulders, his