insanity in order to save his
neck from being stretched.

"Doe Furniss! Come over here!" called Reade. "Gentlemen, this is a
question for Doe Furniss. Don't think of doing anything to the fellow
until you've heard from Doc. Make way for the doctor, gentlemen."

At a sign from Dr. Furniss the captors led Ashby's horse onward until
the office shack was reached. Here two men freed the captive from his
horse and led him inside. Dr. Furniss followed them and the door was
closed.

"Let's get away from here," urged Tom Reade. "A big crowd hanging about
is sure to excite the poor fellow."

"Reade, you're too soft and easy," grunted a Paloma man in the crowd.
"The only thing that makes Ashby crazy is that he didn't get you."

"He did 'get' me, however," laughed Tom, displaying four bullet holes
through his shirtsleeves, and two more that pierced his hat. "Ashby got
as much of me as I'd want any marksman to get."

Having withdrawn to a distance, the crowd waited.

It was nearly half an hour before Dr. Furniss stepped outside. Now he
walked swiftly over to the edge of the crowd.

"Gentlemen," remarked the physician, "you are justified in feeling very
well pleased that you didn't lynch Ashby. The poor fellow is as insane
as a man could well be. He imagines Mr. Reade has hurt his business and
is determined to kill him. I'll send for a straightjacket and then we'll
hustle him away to the asylum."

At this moment a wild yell sounded from the shack, to be echoed from the
crowd. George Ashby, seemingly possessed of the strength of half a
dozen men, had wrenched himself free of his captors, felling both like
a flash. Then the hotel man leaped to his horse, freeing it and starting
off at a mad gallop.

Instantly a score of men set off after the fugitive, swinging their
lariats as they rode.

Crack! Crack! Bang!

Snatching still another automatic revolver from one of his saddle bags,
Ashby was now firing at those riding behind him.

The line of horsemen wavered somewhat. They might have fired in return,
and have brought down their quarry, but no brave man likes to think of
shooting a lunatic.

So, still firing as he went, Ashby once more reached the edge of the
quicksand.

Now, riding as fast as he could urge his pony, the hotel man dashed out
on the Man-killer.

Nor was he riding over the part that had been rendered safe by the young
engineers.

Instead, he was riding to the southward of the railroad
property--str