e of the gun describing every point
of the compass.

Taking a risky chance, Slavin, watching his opportunity suddenly closed
with the struggling men and, raising his arm brought the barrel of his
heavy Colt's .45 smashing down on the knuckles of the crazed man's
gun-hand. Instantaneously the latter's weapon dropped to the floor.

Bang! The cocked hammer discharged one chamber--the bullet ricocheting
off the brass bar-rail deflected through a cluster of glasses and
bottles, smashing them and a long saloon-mirror into a myriad splinters.
But few of the company there escaped the deadly flying glass, as
badly-gashed faces immediately testified. It all happened in quicker
time than it takes to relate.

"'Crown' him!" gasped Yorke, still grimly hanging onto his man, "'Crown'
the ---- good and hard!"

Redmond sprang forward, grasping a small, shot-loaded police "billy," but
Slavin interposed a huge arm.

"Nay!" he said sharply, and with curious eagerness, "Du not 'chrown' um
bhoy! lave um tu me!" And he grasped one of the big, struggling man's
wrists firmly in a vise-like grip. "Leggo, Yorkey!"

The latter obeyed with alacrity, and stooping he picked up the fallen
gun. He had an inkling of what was coming.

"Ah-hh!" Slavin gloated gutterally, as he whirled his victim giddily
around and brought the man up facing him with a violent jerk--"Windy
Moran, avick!"--softly and cruelly--"me wud-be cock av a wan-harse
dump!--me wud-be 'bad-man'! . . . Oh, yes! 'tis both shockin' an' brutil
tu misthreat ye I know but--surely, surely yeh desarve somethin' for all
this!" And he drew back his formidable right arm.

Smack! The terrific impact of that one, terrible open-handed slap nearly
knocked his victim through the bar-room wall. The head rocked sideways
and the big body turned completely round. Eyes rushing water and one
profile now resembling a slab of bloodied liver, the man reeled about in
a circle as if bereft of sight.

"Oh-hh!--Ooh!--No-o!--Ah-hh!" The wild, moaning cry for quarter came
gaspingly out of puffed, blood-foamed lips. But there was no mercy in
Slavin. He looked round at the wrecked bar, the glass-slashed bleeding
faces of his men and the rest of the saloon's occupants. He thought upon
many things--how near ignoble death many of them had been but a few
minutes before--upon insult and threat flaunted at them by a drunken,
ruffling braggadocio!--and he jerked the latter to him once more.

But his