d crash from the sitting room drove the blood from the girl's face.

"Go then--go!"

In the room beyond, Torrance was enjoying himself, though not without
painful reminders that it was a real fight. Heppel had secured a table
leg and was wielding it as never sledge or axe. Werner, having
recovered his senses, had joined Morani and was circling the room for a
chance to strike at the boss's back, in the meantime throwing chairs,
books, loose parts of the stove, anything that came to his hand. A
flower pot on the elbow brought a howl from Torrance, and for a moment
he pulled himself together.

Bringing himself up short in the centre of the room he started out
relentlessly to corner Werner, ignoring the others. The threatened man
fled shrieking before him.

"Knife him, Morani! For God's sake, give it to him on the head,
Heppel!"

A bright line slid down the Italian's hand and flashed like a gleam of
lightning. Torrance drew up with a shooting pain in his left arm.
Heppel leaped in behind and swung the table leg with all his cruel
strength.

Morani and Heppel saw a figure launch itself through the bedroom door.
It swept them crashing together and shot them through the outer door
before they could use their weapons. Werner leaped after them.

Torrance started to give chase, mouthing great curses. But a pair of
arms encircled and held him as if he were a child. Shifting bloodshot
eyes to the new foe, he looked into the face of the Indian.

"You damned redskin! You're at the bottom of this, eh?"

The Indian tightened his grip. "White man a fool. Indian save him.
You chase--whole camp come. Two no fight five hundred--almost killed
once trying it. The girl in there."

The last four words brought Torrance to his senses. He ceased to
struggle. The Indian's hands fell away. Tressa lifted her father's
left arm; blood was dripping from it.

"Sit still, daddy. Hold your arm like that till I get the water and
bandages--there's still hot water, I think. It's only a scratch. Grip
your arm there."

Torrance, suddenly weak at the sight of his own blood, sank into a
chair, staring at the stained sleeve.

"Say, Big Chief, you're a good sport. I guess you came in time--Say!
Where's he gone?"

The window in Tressa's room rattled.

"By hickory! If that fellow don't owe me something I don't know about,
he's running up a big bill against me."

CHAPTER XV

KOPPY MAKES A THREAT

Though he had emer