s
plunged out of the rear door and disappeared. Others were crowding after
them when there came a sudden spurt of flame, the sharp sound of a
pistol-shot, and a bullet buried itself in the casing of the rear door.

"Stand still, every damn' one of you," ordered the new-comer.

He strode down the room through the light powder-haze and paused before
Stratton, tall, wide-shouldered, and lean of flank, with a thin, hawklike
face and penetrating gray eyes.

"Well?" he questioned curtly. "What's it all about? That scoundrel been
selling licker again?"

"Not to us," snapped Buck. "Are you Hardenberg?" he added, with sudden
inspiration.

"I am."

"Well, you're the cause of our being in here."

The gray eyes studied him narrowly. "How come?"

"I came to town to see you specially and was told by a man outside that
you were making a raid on this joint. We hadn't been inside three minutes
before we found it was a plant to get us here and knife us."

"I don't get you," remarked the sheriff in a slightly puzzled tone.

By this time Buck's momentary irritation at the hint that it was all
merely a drunken quarrel was dying away.

"I don't wonder," he returned in a more amiable tone. "It's a long
story--too long to tell just now. I can only say that we were attacked
without cause by the whole gang here, and if you hadn't shown up just now,
it's a question whether we'd have gotten away alive."

The sheriff's glance swept over the disordered room, taking in the
shattered window, the bodies on the floor, the Mexican who crouched
moaning in a corner, and returned to Stratton's face.

"I'm not so sure about that last," he commented, with a momentary grim
smile. "What's your name?"

"Buck Green."

"Oh! You wrote me a letter--"

"Sure. I'll explain about that later. Meanwhile--"

He broke off and, bending swiftly, pulled his Colt from under the table.
Breaking the weapon, he ejected a little shower of empty brass shells, at
the sight of which his lips tightened. Still without comment, he rapidly
filled it from his belt, Hardenberg watching him intently the while.

"Meanwhile, you'd like a little action, eh?" drawled the sheriff. "You're
right. Either of you hurt?"

He glanced inquiringly at Jessup, who was just wiping the blood from his
cut face.

"Not me," snapped Bud. "This don't amount to nothin'. Say, was there a guy
hangin' around outside when yuh came in--short, with black hair an' eyes
set close together?"

B