a small, spiteful report. It was
followed by a cry--a groan. Other guns cracked. Bullets pattered on the
wood. Allie heard the spat of lead striking Hough. It had a sickening
sound. He moved as if from a blow. A volley followed and Allie saw the
bright flashes. All about her bullets were whistling and thudding. She
knew with a keen horror every time Hough was struck. Hoarse yells and
strangling cries mixed with the diminishing shots.

Then Ancliffe grasped her and pushed her through a vent he had made.
Allie crawled backward and she could see Hough still standing in front.
It seemed that he swayed. Then as she rose further her view was cut off.
Although she had not looked around, she was aware of a dimly lighted
storeroom. Outside the shots had ceased. She heard something heavy fall
suddenly; then a patter of quick, light footsteps.

Ancliffe essayed to get through the opening feet first. It was a tight
squeeze, or else some one held him back. There came a crashing of wood;
Ancliffe's body whirled in the aperture and he struggled violently.
Allie heard hissing, sibilant Spanish utterances. She stood petrified,
certain that Durade had attacked Ancliffe. Suddenly the Englishman
crashed through, drawing a supple, twisting, slender man with him. He
held this man by the throat with one hand and by the wrist with the
other. Allie recognized Durade's Mexican ally. He gripped a knife and
the blade was bloody.

Once inside, where Ancliffe could move, he handled the Mexican with
deliberate and remorseless ease. Allie saw him twist and break the arm
which held the knife. Not that sight, but the eyes of the Mexican made
Allie close her own. When she opened them, at a touch, Ancliffe stood
beside her and the Mexican lay quivering. Ancliffe held the bloody
knife; he hid it under his coat.

"Come," he said. His voice seemed thin.

"But Hough! We must--"

Ancliffe's strange gesture froze Allie's lips. She followed him--clung
close to him. There were voices near--and persons. All seemed to fall
back before the Englishman. He strode on. Indeed, his movements appeared
unnatural. They went down a low stairway, out into the dark. Lights were
there to the right, and hurrying forms. Ancliffe ran with her in the
other direction. Only dim, pale lamps shone through tents. Down this
side street it was quiet and dark. Allie stumbled, too. He turned a
corner and proceeded rapidly toward bright lights. The houses loomed
big. Down that way ma