by powerful arms, the door soon crashed inward, and the besiegers
poured through the opening. The fight which ensued was short and fierce.
Outnumbered though the defenders were, they put up a desperate battle,
but they were quickly beaten down and disarmed.

Shoved, dragged, carried, some of them cruelly wounded and a few dead
but all who lived swearing horribly, the prisoners were hustled to the
street. Last of all came Monte Joe, securely held by two brawny
cow-punchers. At sight of his mottled, blood-besmeared visage, the crowd
went wild.

"Hang him! Lynch the dirty brute! Get a rope!" The cry was taken up by
fifty voices.

Hastily running the gambler beneath a convenient tree, they proceeded to
adjust a noose about his neck. In another instant Monte Joe's soul would
have departed to the Great Beyond but for a series of interruptions.
Wade created the first of these by forcing his big, black horse through
the throng.

"Listen, men!" he roared. "You must stop this! This man--all of
them--must have a fair trial."

"Trial be damned!" shouted a bearded rancher. "We've had enough law in
this valley. Now we're after justice."

Cheering him the crowd roared approbation of the sentiment, for even the
law-abiding seemed suddenly to have gone mad with blood-lust. Wade, his
face flushed with anger, was about to reply to them when Santry forced
his way to the front. Ever since Wade had released the old man from
jail, he had been impressed with the thought that, no matter what his
own views, gratitude demanded that he should instantly back up his
employer.

"Justice!" snapped the old man, pushing his way into the circle that had
formed around the prisoner, a pistol in each hand. "Who's talkin' o'
justice? Ain't me an' Wade been handed more dirt by this bunch o'
crooks than all the rest o' you combined? Joe's a pizenous varmint, but
he's goin' to get something he never gave--a square deal. You hear me?
Any man that thinks different can settle the p'int with me!"

He glared at the mob, his sparse, grizzled mustache seeming actually to
bristle. By the dim light of a lantern held near him his aspect was
terrifying. A gash on his forehead had streaked one side of his face
with blood, while his eyes, beneath their shaggy thatch of brows,
appeared to blaze like live coals. Involuntarily, those nearest him
shrank back a pace but only for a moment for such a mob was not to be
daunted by threats. A low murmur of disapproval was r