Warden had come out shortly before; he was now in his office farther down the street, congratulating himself upon the outcome of the incident in the saloon. He had struck a damaging blow at Lawler. At a stroke he was evening his score with the latter.
Several other men had emerged from the saloon. When Shorty reached the front door four men were just emerging, carrying another. Suspicious, alert, Shorty halted the men and peered closely at the face of the man they were carrying.
"It's Joe Hamlin!" he said as he recognized the other's face.
Shorty's eyes were glowing with rage and suspicion.
"What's happened?" he demanded of one of the men.
"Rukus," shortly replied one. "Hamlin, here, tried to draw on Slade, an' Slade——"
"Slade!"
Shorty almost screamed the words. He straightened, his face grew convulsed. Pausing on the verge of violent action, he heard Hamlin's voice:
"Shorty!"
Shorty leaned over. Straining, his muscles working, his eyes blazing, Shorty heard low words issuing from Hamlin's lips: