ward the reeling Helen to catch
her when she fainted.

Las Vegas began to curse, and, striding to Dale, he pushed him out of
the saloon.

"--! What 're you doin' heah?" he yelled, stridently. "Hevn't you got
thet girl to think of? Then do it, you big Indian! Lettin' her run after
you heah--riskin' herself thet way! You take care of her an' Bo an'
leave this deal to me!"

The cowboy, furious as he was at Dale, yet had keen, swift eyes for the
horses near at hand, and the men out in the dim light. Dale lifted
the girl into his arms, and, turning without a word, stalked away to
disappear in the darkness. Las Vegas, holding his gun low, returned to
the bar-room. If there had been any change in the crowd it was slight.
The tension had relaxed. Turner no longer stood with hands up.

"You-all go on with your fun," called the cowboy, with a sweep of his
gun. "But it'd be risky fer any one to start leavin'."

With that he backed against the bar, near where the black bottle stood.
Turner walked out to begin righting tables and chairs, and presently the
crowd, with some caution and suspense, resumed their games and drinking.
It was significant that a wide berth lay between them and the door. From
time to time Turner served liquor to men who called for it.

Las Vegas leaned with back against the bar. After a while he sheathed
his gun and reached around for the bottle. He drank with his piercing
eyes upon the door. No one entered and no one went out. The games
of chance there and the drinking were not enjoyed. It was a hard
scene--that smoky, long, ill-smelling room, with its dim, yellow lights,
and dark, evil faces, with the stealthy-stepping Turner passing to and
fro, and the dead Mulvey staring in horrible fixidity at the ceiling,
and the Mexican quivering more and more until he shook violently, then
lay still, and with the drinking, somber, waiting cowboy, more fiery and
more flaming with every drink, listening for a step that did not come.

Time passed, and what little change it wrought was in the cowboy. Drink
affected him, but he did not become drunk. It seemed that the liquor he
drank was consumed by a mounting fire. It was fuel to a driving passion.
He grew more sullen, somber, brooding, redder of eye and face, more
crouching and restless. At last, when the hour was so late that there
was no probability of Beasley appearing, Las Vegas flung himself out of
the saloon.

All lights of the village had now been extingui