Bud knew there was no use of trying to get away just now. He could see that the upstairs was lighted, and he knew that those already outside the tunnel would see that he did not escape in that direction.
He could hear men shouting upstairs, as they questioned each other. A cold draught was blowing in the tunnel exit, but Bud did not move. Something seemed to tell him to keep still and wait. There seemed to be no one except himself left in the tunnel.
Then, out near the center of the room, a match flared up. Whoever lit the match was lying on the floor. As it grew brighter, Bud could see the saturnine features of Joe Burgoyne. He raised himself up and looked around. The room was a wreck. Just beyond him lay a man, flat on his face, and another was propped against the wall, his head flopped forward.
As Joe turned to look at this man the flame of the match scorched his fingers and he flung it aside.
A sheet of flame seemed to fairly lift from the floor around Joe and he sprang to his feet with a yelp of alarm.
He had dropped the match into the pool of oil from the smashed lamp. Joe backed away from it; backed almost into the bar before he turned and saw Bud. But Bud had risen to his haunches and launched himself straight into the surprised half-breed.
Joe was as lithe as a tiger, and, although Bud's attack carried him almost into the flames, he twisted loose and bounded toward the stairway. A cloud of kerosene-laden smoke billowed up through the trap. Someone yelled a warning and before Joe could reach the top of the stairs the trap crashed down.
Bud had lost his gun and now he darted back to the bar, searching for it. Joe must have divined Bud's misfortune, for, with a yelp of joy, he darted back from the stairs, knife in hand. It seemed as if the whole end of the room was in flames now and the black smoke was stifling.
Bud braced himself for the shock, but the half-breed did not come to close quarters. He stopped just out of reach, half crouched, the knife held point outward, as though he was using a rapier. The light glistened on the polished blade, but Bud did not retreat.