Joe, with never another look behind him, turned and ran, disappearing about the corner of the jail, sending back an account of himself in the sound of his racing footfalls among the pines.
Once again came a great shouting from the crowd in the road; they had seen, and now that they had their hearts' desire in having Mexicali Joe free, they saw themselves losing all hope of coming at his secret because they were losing him. Their brief interest in Bruce Standing was dead for the present; Joe ran like a scared cat, and they, like so many yelping dogs, set after him. And Timber-Wolf, watching, standing where he was with his big hands on his hips, roared with laughter.
Babe Deveril and the girl, Lynette Brooke, had seen much of all this. They were at the time on their way to the Gallup House, she to her room and he to his meeting with his lawless kinsman. Thus it happened that Deveril's first sight of Timber-Wolf in half a dozen years, and Lynette's first sight of him in all her life, was at a moment when he was engaged in an episode of the type which made him stand apart as the man he was.
"Taggart ought to kill him for that," grunted Deveril. "And he probably will before the night is over."
The girl shivered as she had done just now when she saw a rifle raised and an axe flung. And yet within her, being woman, there was the exultation which would not stay down, and the thought: "He is magnificent.... A brute, maybe, but surely magnificent!" And she knew that she would never be content until she had seen his face and looked into his eyes. Already, being woman, she was concerned with his eyes; whether they would be large or small, set wide apart or close together. She wanted him to be the lion, not the wild boar.
The remainder of the night's happenings was to come, because of the simple arrangement of rooms at the Gallup House, within the experience of both Deveril and Lynette. They saw Bruce Standing go down the road and followed him. He did not once look back. When he came to his horse, he stopped only long enough to take down his rifle. Plainly now he meant to go direct to the Gallup House. All the while men were streaming by him, hurrying to join in the chase after the escaping Mexicali Joe. So, by the time he came to Gallup's door, there were not over a score of men remaining in the house.
The Gallup House was a long, squat building of two low stories, its three main rooms on the ground floor facing the road. These were the dining-room; a room given over to Gallup's office, and sufficient space for a dozen chairs and a big sheet-iron stove—a sort of living-room for Gallup's guests, when he had any; and, finally, a room which had in older times been the barroom, and which, despite changing conditions, remained in practice a barroom. At this hour both dining-room and sitting-room were deserted, and the score or so of men, Gallup and Taggart among them, were in the bar. Here were round tables, for it was a big room, for games of cards or dice.
Deveril and the girl parted at the centre door through which she entered direct into the general living-room. They saw Bruce Standing go to the last of the three doors and step in unhesitantly, still carrying his rifle lightly. Deveril followed him, and saw the looks on the faces of Taggart and Gallup and some of their following.
"I stepped in to buy the drinks for the crowd," Timber-Wolf said quietly, all the while his eyes flashing back and forth. "Gents, the treats are on me."
Jim Taggart, his hands on his hips, was eying him like a hawk, and in Taggart's face was a dull, hot flush. Gallup, however, standing close at Taggart's side, was the first to speak. He cried out angrily: