tack the
dishevelled hair from his eyes, watching them warily, every animal
instinct on the alert.

Mike took one comprehensive glance at the scene, at the overturned chair,
the half-open window, the trapped man crouching motionless against the
further wall. The meaning of it all was plain, and his bar-room training
gave quick insight as to the part he was to play. He spoke gruffly out
into the dark of the hall behind him, an order to some one concealed
there; then shut the door tightly, and faced West, his head lowered like
a bull about to charge. West understood; he was locked in to fight it
out--three against one. Hobart was nearest to him, his face swollen and
red, his eyes ugly slits, with teeth snarling between thin lips. The
fellow laughed sneeringly, as their glances met.

"Now we'll take care of you, Captain," he taunted. "Never mind his guns,
Mike; there's not a load in either of them. Give the guy what he is
looking for. Come on you terriers!"

But West did not wait. There was only one chance, and he took it--to
carry the fighting to them. He had no doubt of the emptiness of his guns,
and hurled one straight at Hobart's head, leaping forward with the other
clutched in his hand straight at Mike, who had scarcely time to fling up
one hand in defence. The thrown weapon missed its mark by a narrow inch,
striking the wall behind, and falling clattering to the floor, but the
other broke through the big saloon-keeper's guard, and sent him reeling
to his knees, a gush of blood reddening his hair. Again and again West
struck him, driving him prone to the floor before the other two dragged
him away, wrestled the weapon from his hand, and closed with him in a
desperate death grapple.

What followed he never could relate. He was mad with fury of the fight.
A mere animal defending life with every means at hand, caring nothing for
either wound or hurt so that he won out in the end. Mike was out of it,
but the two grappling him fought like wild cats, rough barroom fighters,
resorting to any tactics to disable their opponent. Yet it was this that
saved him. Crazed as he was, madly as his brain whirled in the fierce
struggle, his long training held supreme--he knew how to fight,
remembered instinctively every trick and guard. Again and again his
clinched fist reached its mark, and slowly he broke away from clutching
hands, and regained his feet. It was a terrific struggle, but luck, as
well as skill, was with him. The ne