note
of anger.

She went inside, then, no longer thinking of herself; her heart a throb
with concern, courage of a high order sustaining her. She pushed the
outside door open, burst through the double-swing door that screened the
barroom from the street, and stood in the front of the room blinking at
the lights.

The room was full of men--she did not know how many. They made a great
blur in front of her; and it seemed to her that all their faces were
turned to her. She had a flashing view of a multitude of inquiring eyes;
she noted the thick haze that hung over the room; her nostrils were
assailed by mingled odors that were nauseating. The flashing glance
showed her the long bar, a cluster of lights overhead; card tables; a
low ceiling, and a stairway leading from the barroom to a platform.

All sound had ceased with her entrance. She saw her father standing near
the center of the room.

He was standing alone, in sinister isolation. Singleton was facing him,
about a dozen feet distant. A few feet from Singleton stood another
man--dark of face, with cruel lips, and eyes that held a wanton light. A
little farther away--close to the bar--stood Gary Warden.

Her father seemed to be the only man in the room who had not seen her. A
terrible rage had gripped him; he seemed to have undergone a strange
transformation since she had seen him last; that manhood which she had
thought had departed from him appeared to have returned.

For he made a striking figure as he stood there. He was rigid, alert; he
seemed to dominate every man that faced him, that stood within sound of
his voice. He had been talking when Ruth entered; he was still talking,
unaware of her presence.

His voice was pitched high, it carried a note of defiance; it was
vibrant with passion. Fascinated by the change in him, Ruth stood
motionless, listening.

"So that's what you brought me here for?" he said, his voice shaking
with rage. He was looking at Singleton and the man who stood near the
latter. "You brought me here because you wanted to be sure there'd be
enough of you to down me. Well, damn you--get goin!"

His voice rose to a screech of awful rage; and while it still resounded
through the room he dropped his right hand and dragged at the pistol at
his hip.

It was done so swiftly that Ruth could make no movement to interfere.
And yet as swiftly as her father's hand had dropped to the holster at
his side, the dark-faced man who stood near Single