And he pointed with a stern arm. She shrank back to the wall.
“By God,” snarled Dave Carey, “you can’t talk to girls like that, stranger!”
“Then come outside with me an’ I’ll talk to a man. You too, Gordon, you—”
A thrilling cry from many women made them all turn. In the door stood Harry During with the light gleaming on his long six-gun.
“Gordon,” he called. “Git down an’ crawl like the dirty dog you are!”
There was another flash of light on steel. It was the proprietor who had drawn, but he did not attempt to draw a bead on Harry During. His gun cracked; there was a clang of iron and a crash of glass as the big gasoline lamp went out; the hall was flooded with a semi-dark. And with the coming of the darkness fear rushed on the crowd. A stampede started for the door, but who could find the door in that chaos of struggling bodies and swinging shadows? Through the windows came the faint light of the early dawn.
“Jac!” cried Carrigan.
But tall Ben Craig was already beside her.
“Leave it to me!” he said reassuringly. “You didn’t make no mistake when you picked me out. I’ll show you that the mountain-desert’s got one real man to make up for a lot of coyotes!”
“Wait!” she pleaded.