The manager stood back with a melodramatic gesture.
“Eject the caballero,” he said finely.
The two men hesitated. Then one came forward.
“The señor must leave,” he said.
“In good time, my friend,” replied Cartwright.
A hand gripped his arm, but instantly he had shaken free, and had driven with all his strength at the man’s jaw. The stage hand dropped like a log. He pushed at the door behind him.
“Put your kimono over your things,” he said quickly. “You can send the stage kit back to-morrow. There is going to be a rough house.”
“All right,” said a voice behind him, and the girl slipped out, still in her kimono and carrying a bundle of clothes under her arm.
“You know the way out? I’ll follow you. Now, Jose,” he said flippantly, “I’m going—quietly.”