ner back of the table in a crumpled heap,
when he was almost felled to the floor by a blow from behind, and
turned to fight his own battle with one of the Denver bullies.

His old gymnasium training stood him in good stead; for, half-dazed by
the blow, he could only reel back and block the heavy fists that were
smashing toward him, when there came a sudden pause, and he saw that
the smith had forced his way forward and lunged, with his heavy, slow
arm, a deadly punch that landed under his assailant's ear, and sent
him limp and dazed to the floor. The smith jumped forward and lifted
his heavy boot to kick the weaving face; but Dick caught him by the
arm, and whirled him back in time to prevent needless brutality.

"There's another of 'em that hit Bells," the smith yelled, pointing to
a man who began desperately edging toward the door.

All the rage of the primitive was aroused in Dick by this time, the
battle lust that dwells, placidly through life, perhaps, in every man,
but which breaks loose in a torrent when once unleashed. He leaped
after the retreating man, seized him by the collar, and gave a wrench
that tore coat, collar, and tie from the man's throat. He drove a blow
into the frightened face, and yelled: "That for old Bells Park! And
that!"

The room had become a pandemonium. Men seemed striking everywhere.
Fists were flying, the bartenders and gamblers shouting for order; and
Dick looked back to where Smuts and Bill were clearing a wide circle
as they went after individual members of Thompson's supporters who
were edging in. Suddenly he saw a man leap on the bar, and recognized
in him the man who had been watchman at the Croix d'Or. Even in that
tempestuous instant Dick wondered at his temerity in entering the
place.

Something glistened in the light, and he saw that the watchman held a
drawn revolver, and was leveling it at Bill. The motion of the fight
was all that prevented the shot, as Mathews leaped to and fro. A dozen
men were between Dick and the watchman; but almost under his hand, at
the edge of the bar, stood a whisky bottle. He dove for it, brought it
up, and threw. The watchman, struck fairly on the side of the head,
dropped off backward, and fell to the floor behind the bar, and his
pistol exploded harmlessly upward.

Instantly there came a change. From terrific uproar the room became as
still as a solitude. Brutal and deadly as had been that fierce minute
or two of battle in which all men f