Lawrence, the sheriff, and himself were projected out upon the sidewalk by one of his quick maneuvers. A crowd of men came running to the place. Above the rising murmur of their voices, raised in excitement, came a shrill and strident cry.
"Van! Van!" was the call from someone in the crowd.
It was lean old Gettysburg. Dave and Napoleon were pantingly chasing where he ran.
"Van!" yelled Gettysburg again. "It's Barger!—Barger!—dead in the tent—it's Barger—up there—dead!"
Barger! The name acted as swiftly on the crowd as oil upon a flame. It seemed as if the wave of news swept like a tide across the street, down the thoroughfare, and into every shop.
Two automobiles were halted in the road, their engines purring as they stood. Their drivers dismounted to join the gathering throng. One of the men was Bostwick, down from the hills. He had searched for Beth at Mrs. Dick's, and then had followed here.
"Barger! Barger's dead in camp and the 'Laughing Water' claim was stolen—and Culver killed!" One man bawled it to the crowd—and it sped to Bostwick's ears.
One being only departed from the scene—Trimmer, the lumberman, swiftly seeking McCoppet.
Van, in his heat, had told too much, accusing the prisoner in hand. He silenced Gettysburg abruptly and started to force aside the crowd.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, move aside," he said. "I've got—by Jupe! there's Bostwick!"