uch to the impression of drunkenness, and he was talking
aloud:

"Shoot me, Mr. Chauvenet. Go on and shoot me! I am John Armitage, and I
live in Montana, where real people are. Go on and shoot! Winkelried's in
jail and the jig's up and the Empire and the silly King are safe. Go on
and shoot, I tell you!"

He had stumbled on until he was within a dozen steps of Chauvenet, who
lifted his revolver until it covered Armitage's head.

"Drop that gun--drop it damned quick!" and Dick Claiborne swung the butt
of his rifle high and brought it down with a crash on Chauvenet's head;
then Armitage paused and glanced about and laughed.

It was Claiborne who freed Durand from the dead horse, which had received
the shots fired at Oscar the moment he rose at the wall. The fight was
quite knocked out of the conspirator, and he swore under his breath,
cursing the unconscious Chauvenet and the missing Zmai and the ill
fortune of the fight.

"It's all over but the shouting--what's next?" demanded Claiborne.

"Tie him up--and tie the other one up," said Armitage, staring about
queerly. "Where the devil is Oscar?"

"He's after the big fellow. You're badly fussed, old man. We've got to
get out of this and fix you up."

"I'm all right. I've got a hole in my shoulder that feels as big and hot
as a blast furnace. But we've got them nailed, and it's all right, old
man!"

Durand continued to curse things visible and invisible as he rubbed his
leg, while Claiborne watched him impatiently.

"If you start to run I'll certainly kill you, Monsieur."

"We have met, my dear sir, under unfortunate circumstances. You should
not take it too much to heart about the potato sack. It was the fault of
my dear colleagues. Ah, Armitage, you look rather ill, but I trust you
will harbor no harsh feelings."

Armitage did not look at him; his eyes were upon the prostrate figure of
Chauvenet, who seemed to be regaining his wits. He moaned and opened his
eyes.

"Search him, Claiborne, to make sure. Then get him on his legs and pinion
his arms, and tie the gentlemen together. The bridle on that dead horse
is quite the thing."

"But, Messieurs," began Durand, who was striving to recover his
composure--"this is unnecessary. My friend and I are quite willing to
give you every assurance of our peaceable intentions."

"I don't question it," laughed Claiborne.

"But, my dear sir, in America, even in delightful America, the law will
protect the citizens of a