“You durned fools!” he cried wrathfully. “Let him be Fisher, for all I care. Anyhow, we seen him shoot down Miguel Cervantes. Shot him in the back, I’m tellin’ ye. You, Mike! Lay down that gun!”
From behind Hansom went up a low, surging growl. Every man there saw red at the tale he heard; the story of Miguel Cervantes shot in the back. For only an instant did Galway Mike hesitate; then his shotgun fell.
“You win, byes,” he cried. “If he done that, go git him and have a party!”
There was a swelling roar as the crowd surged to the doorway of the storeroom.
CHAPTER IX
FISHER RIDES NORTH
Mike’s Place was lighted into the semblance of day by two huge acetylene lamps in the center of the ceiling.
As the foremost of the crowd entered the storeroom there came to the others a howl of baffled rage. The entire rear of the long room was a surging mass of men, all fighting to be first. The front of the place was quite deserted, except for the figure of Mike, who stood behind the bar, hand still on his shotgun.
About the rear doorway centered a wild struggle. Nobody knew just what was taking place until Chuck Hansom leaped to a chair and dominated the mob.
“He’s gone!” roared the cowboy with the gay beaded vest. “Gone! Somebody’s cut him loose. Got out the windy——”