ithin the doorway below. Presently Pete
heard some one coming up the uncarpeted stairway--some one who walked
with the tread of a heavy person endeavoring to go silently. A brief
interval in which Pete could hear his own heart thumping, and some one
else ascended the stairway. The boards in the hallway creaked. Some
one rapped on the door.

"I guess this is the finish," said Pete to himself. Had he been
apprehended in the open, in a crowd on the street, he would not have
made a fight. He had told himself that. But to be run to earth this
way--trapped in a mean and squalid room, away from the sunlight and no
slightest chance to get away . . . He surmised that these men knew
that the men that they hunted would not hesitate to kill. Evidently
they did not know that Brevoort was gone. How could he hold them that
Brevoort might have more time? He hesitated. Should he speak, or keep
silent?

He thought it better to answer the summons. "What do you want?" he
called.

"We want to talk to your partner," said a voice.

"He's sleepin'," called Pete. "He was out 'most all night."

"Well, we'll talk with you then."

"Go ahead. I'm listenin'."

"Suppose you open the door."

"And jest suppose I don't? My pardner ain't like to be friendly if
he's woke up sudden."

Pete could hear the murmuring of voices as if in consultation. Then,
"All right. We'll come back later."

"Who'll I say wants to see him?" asked Pete.

"He'll know when he sees us. Old friends of his."

Meanwhile Pete had risen and moved softly toward the door. Standing to
one side he listened. He heard footsteps along the hall--and the sound
of some one descending the stairs. "One of 'em has gone down. The
other is in the hall waitin'," he thought. "And both of 'em scared to
bust in that door."

He tiptoed back to the window and glanced down. The heavy-shouldered
man had crossed the street and was again in the restaurant. Pete saw
him step to the telephone. Surmising that the other was telephoning
for reinforcements, Pete knew that he would have to act quickly, or
surrender. He was not afraid to risk being killed in a running fight.
He was willing to take that chance. But the thought of imprisonment
appalled him. To be shut from the sun and the space of the
range--perhaps for life--or to be sentenced to be hanged, powerless to
make any kind of a fight, without friends or money . . . He thought of
The Spider, of Boca, of Montoy