ripping the back of a chair. The gunman
sank into shapelessness on the floor as the chair hurtled through the
air straight at Enright's head.

With a crash the door fell, and a black mass of men surged in through
the opening, the big bartender leading them, an axe in his hand.
Beaton lay motionless just as he had dropped; Enright was in one
corner, dazed, unnerved, a red gash across his forehead, from which
blood dripped, the revolver, struck from his fingers, yet smoking on
the floor; Westcott, his clothes torn, his face bruised by blows,
breathing heavily, went slowly backward, step by step, to the farther
wall, conscious of nothing now but the savagely hostile faces of these
new enemies. Lacy, staggering as though drunk, managed to attain his
feet, hate, the desire for revenge, yielding him strength. This was
his crowd, and his mind was quick to grasp the opportunity.

"There's the man who did it," he shouted, his arm flung out toward
Westcott. "I saw him shoot. See, that's his gun lying on the floor.
Don't let the murderer get away!"

He started forward, an oath on his lips, and the excited crowd surged
after, growling anger. Then the mass of them seemed suddenly rent
asunder, and the marshal ploughed his way through heedlessly, his hat
gone, and a blue-barrelled gun in either hand. He swept the muzzle of
one of these into the bartender's face menacingly, his eyes searching
the maddened crowd.

"Wait a minute, you," he commanded sharply. "I reckon I've got
something to say 'bout this. Put down that axe, Mike, or ye'll never
draw another glass o' beer in this camp. You know me, lads, an' I
never draw except fer business. Shut your mouth, Lacy; don't touch
that gun, you fool! I am in charge here--this is my job; and if there
is going to be any lynching done, it will be after you get me. Stand
back now; all of you--yes, get out into that barroom. I mean you,
Mike! This man is my prisoner, and, by God, I'll defend him. Ay! I'll
do more, I'll let him defend himself. Here, Westcott, pick up your gun
on the floor. Now stand here with me! We're going out through that
bunch, and if one of those coyotes puts a paw on you, let him have it."

The crowd made way, reluctantly enough, growling curses, but with no
man among them sufficiently reckless to attempt resistance. They
lacked leadership, for the little marshal never once took his eye off
Lacy. At the door he turned, walking backward, trusting in W