riders waited came a single, abrupt word,
peremptory, incisive: "Panhandle!"

Panhandle, about to turn into the lighted doorway, stopped short.

Sneed had called to Panhandle; but it was Posmo the Mexican who rode
forward to meet him. Sneed, close behind Posmo, watched to see that the
Mexican carried out his instructions, which were simply to tell
Panhandle to get his horse and leave town with them. Seeing the group
behind the Mexican, Panhandle's first thought was that Posmo had
betrayed him to the authorities. It _was_ Posmo. Panhandle recognized
the Mexican's pinto horse.

Enraged by what he thought was a trap, and with drunken contempt for the
man he had cheated, Panhandle jerked out his gun and fired at the
Mexican; fired again at the bulky figure behind Posmo, and staggered
back as a slug shattered his shoulder. Cursing, he swung round and
emptied his gun into the blur of riders that separated and spread across
the street, returning his fire from the vantage of the shadows. Flinging
his empty gun at the nearest rider, Panhandle lurched toward the doorway
where Cheyenne and Bartley stood watching. He had almost made the curb
when he lunged and fell. He rose and tried to crawl to the shelter of
the doorway. One of Sneed's men spurred forward and shot Panhandle in
the back. He sank down, his body twitching.

Bartley gasped as he saw the rider deliberately throw another shot into
the dying man. Then Cheyenne's arm jerked up. The rider swerved and
pitched from the saddle. Another of Sneed's men crossed the patch of
light, and a splinter ripped from the door-casing where Cheyenne stood.
Cheyenne's gun came down again and the rider pitched forward and fell.
His horse galloped down the street. Again Cheyenne fired, and again.
Then, in the sudden stillness that followed, Cheyenne stepped out and
dragged Panhandle into the hallway. Some one shouted. A window above the
saloon opposite was raised. Doors opened and men came out, questioning
each other, gathering in a group in front of the Hole-in-the-Wall.

Stunned by the sudden shock of events, the snakelike flash of guns in
the semi-darkness, and the realization that several men had been gravely
wounded, perhaps killed, Bartley heard Cheyenne's voice as though from a
distance.

Cheyenne's hand was on Bartley's arm. "Come on. The game is closed for
the night."

As they stepped from the doorway a man stopped them and asked what had
happened.

"We're goin' for a docto