Brent was lifted from his feet and rushed bodily half way across the room, the very numbers of his assailants protecting him from a hundred blows. Weaving—milling, the crowd surged this way and that, striking at Brent, and hitting each other. They surged against the stove, and it crashed upon its side, filling the room with smoke from the toppling pipe, and covering the floor with blazing chunks of wood and live coals.
Suddenly through the doors swept a whirlwind of human shapes! The surging crowd went down before the onrush, and Brent struggled madly to free himself from the thrashing arms and legs. Revolvers barked, chairs crashed against heads and against other chairs. Roulette and faro layouts were splintered, and poker tables were smashed like kindling wood, men seizing upon the legs for weapons. And above all rose the sound of crashing glass and the shrill shrieks of women. The room filled with choking smoke. Flames ate into the floor and shot up the wooden walls.
The door at the head of the stairs opened suddenly and Brent caught sight of the white face of Claw. He was afraid to shoot, for the frenzied girls, instead of seeking safety in the street, had crowded upon
the stairs and were pouring through the door which Claw was vainly trying to close. The smoke sucked upward, and the flames crackled more loudly, fanned by the new formed draught. Struggling through the fighting, surging men, Brent gained the foot of the stairs. He saw Claw raise his gun, and the next instant a figure flashed between. The gun roared, and the figure crumpled to the floor. It was Kitty. With an oath, Brent sprang up the stairway, as the flames roared behind him.
He turned for an instant and as his eyes swept the room he saw Camillo Bill stoop and gather Kitty into his arms, and stagger toward the front door. Other men were helping the wounded from the room. Someone yelled at Brent to come down and save himself. He glanced toward the speaker. It was Bettles, and even as he looked the man was forced to retreat before the flames and was lost to view. At the head of the stairs Brent slammed the door shut. The little dance hall was full of girls huddled together shrieking. Other girls were stumbling from their rooms, with their belongings in their arms. From the narrow hallway that led to the rear rushed Claw. The man seemed beside himself with terror. His eyes were wide and staring and he made for a window, cursing shrilly as he forced his way through the close-packed crowd of girls, striking them, knocking them down and trampling on them. He did not see Brent and seizing a chair drove it through the window. The
floor was hot, and the air thick with smoke. Claw was about to leap to safety when like a panther Brent sprang upon him, and bore him to the floor. He reached out swiftly and his fingers buried themselves in the man's throat as they had buried themselves in the Captain's. He glared into the terror-wide eyes of the worst man in the North, and laughed aloud. An unnatural, maniacal laugh, it was, that chilled the hearts of the cowering girls. "Kill him!" shrilled one hysterically. "Kill him!" "Kill him!" Others took up the cry, Brent threw Claw onto his belly, placed his knees upon the small of his back, locked the fingers of both hands beneath the man's chin and pulled slowly and steadily upward. Backward came Claw's head as he tore frantically at Brent's arms with his two hands. Upward—and backward came the man's head and shoulders, and Brent shortened his leverage by suddenly slipping his forearms instead of his fingers beneath Claw's chin. Strangling sounds came gurgling from his throat. Brent leaned backward, adding the weight of his body to the pull of his arms. Claw's back was bent sharply upward just in front of the knees that held him to the floor, and summoning all his strength Brent surged backward, straining every muscle of his body until it seemed he could not pull another pound.
Suddenly there was a dull audible snap—and Claw folded backward.
Brent released his grip and leaping to his feet
rushed back through the hallway, and up the stairs. A door of thick planking stopped him and upon a hasp he saw a heavy padlock. Jerking the gun from his belt, he placed the muzzle against the lock and pulled the trigger. There was a deafening explosion and the padlock flew open and swung upon its staple.
Dashing into the room, Brent snatched Snowdrift into his arms, and rushed down the stairs. Pausing at the window Claw had smashed, he stood the girl upon her feet, and knocking the remaining glass from the sash with the butt of the gun, he grabbed one of the screaming girls and pitched her into the big snowdrift that ranged along the whole length of the burning building.