d the identity of the prowler. With utmost caution Lennon slipped
his arm from the sling, drew Farley's revolver, and barricaded himself
behind the chair. Slade shuffled nearer--so near that his
whiskey-poisoned breath struck in Lennon's face. Again came a thud and a
curse. The prowler had stubbed his stockinged toe against a chair leg.

Lennon aimed the revolver toward the sound, in expectation of an
upflaring match. Discovery would mean instant attack by the huge-framed
scoundrel. Of that he had no doubt. Slade would not be groping about in
the dark in this stealthy manner unless intent upon an evil purpose.

But no match flamed. The shuffling feet moved past Lennon to the wall
and along the wall toward the doorway that opened upon the short passage
to the girl's room. No door barred the passage at either end. The
purpose of the prowler was now unmistakable.

For the second time Lennon had cause to be thankful that he had not
changed to his boots. His moccasined feet noiselessly felt their way
after the heavy-footed shuffler. Slade was already through the doorway
into the passage. Lennon followed. The finger-tips of his outgroping
left hand touched the back of the prowler.

A startled grunt warned Lennon to dodge back a step and crouch. A
heavier grunt told him of a violent out-clutch or blow, which, meeting
only empty air, had wrenched the breath from the big body of the
striker.

Again Lennon pointed his revolver--and again the expected match failed
to crackle and flare. Slade stood silent for several seconds, holding
his breath. But Lennon was no less still. The tense listener expelled
his pent-up breath in a grunt of disgust.

"Huh! Must 'a' been the tizwin. Fools a man."

Lennon straightened up and again groped with his hand as he heard Slade
shuffle on along the passage. There was need of utmost caution. He did
not wish to shoot. But he knew that the grip of Slade's thick arms would
be as dangerous as the hug of a grizzly.

This time the outstretched finger-tips barely grazed the prowler's
shirt. Lennon took a quick step forward, clutched the back of Slade's
neck as a guide for his blow, and struck him with the butt of the
revolver under the right ear. The massive body of the trader slumped
down as if hit by a sledge.

The weight of the falling man dragged Lennon after. But the utter
limpness of the body under him stayed his hand from a second blow. He
thrust the revolver back into his pocket and grasp