right elbow striking hard on the board
floor and knocking the pistol out of his hand.

He saw the men surge forward, and he made a desperate effort to get to
his feet. But he did not succeed. He was on his knees when several
men, throwing themselves at him, landed on top of him. Their combined
weight crushed him to the floor, but he squirmed out of the mass and
got to his feet, striking at the faces he saw around him, worrying the
men hither and yon, dragging them with him as he reeled under savage
blows that were rained on him.

He had torn himself almost free; one man still clung to him, and he was
trying to shake the fellow off, that he might hit him effectively, when
a great weight seemed to fall on his head, blackness surrounded him,
and he pitched face down on the floor.

CHAPTER XIV

TEE VOICE OF THE COYOTE

When Sanderson regained consciousness he was lying on his back on a
board floor. His head seemed to have been smashed, he was dizzy and
weak, but he sat up and looked around him.

Then he grinned wanly.

He was in jail. A heavy, barred door was in front of him; turning his
head he saw an iron-grated window behind him. Door and window were set
in heavy stone walls; two other stone walls, with a narrow iron cot set
against one of them, rose blankly on either side.

Sanderson got up, reeling, and went to the window. Darkness had come;
he could see Okar's lights flickering and winking at him from the
buildings that skirted the street. Various sounds reached his
ears--Okar's citizens were enjoying themselves.

Sanderson did not watch the lights long. He walked to the cot, seated
himself on its edge, rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in the
upturned palms of his hands and reflected on what had occurred to him.

Remembering the four thousand dollars in bills of large denomination
that Burroughs had paid him when leaving the Pig-Pen, his hand went to
the money belt around his waist.

Belt and money were gone!

Sanderson got up again, walked to the door and called.

A heavy-featured man slouched down the corridor and halted near the
door.

"Awake, eh?" he grinned. "Dale sure did hand it to you--now, didn't
he? Well," he added as Sanderson's lips straightened at his words,
"what's eatin' you?"

"I had a belt with some money in it--four thousand. What's become of
it?"

"Four thousand!" the man jeered. "That bump on the head is still
affectin' you, I reckon. Four thous