was slipping away Slogger
Meacham made a rush and struck him a quick blow in the neck. He whirled
and struck back at him, the air was full of fists and guns, swung like
clubs to rap him on the head; and then he went down with Meacham on top
of him and a crashing blow ringing in his ears. When he came to his
senses he was stripped and mauled and battered, and a stranger stood
over him with a gun.

"You're my prisoner," he said and Denver sat up startled.

"Why--what's the matter?" he asked looking about at the crowd that had
gathered on the scene of the fight, "what's the matter with that jasper
over there?"

"He's dead--that's all," answered the officer laughing shortly, "you hit
him over the head with this gun."

"I did not!" burst out Denver, "I never even drew it. Say, who is that
fellow, anyway?"

"Name was Meacham," returned the officer, "come on."

CHAPTER XXVI

THE COURSE OF THE LAW

As he lay in his cell in the county jail at Moroni it was borne in upon
Denver that he was caught in some great machine that ground out men as a
mill grinds grain. It had laid a cold hand on him in the person of an
officer of the law, it had inched him on further when a magistrate had
examined him and Chatwourth and his jumpers had testified; and now, as
he awaited his day in court, he wondered whither it was taking him. The
magistrate had held him, the grand jury had indicted him--would the
judge and jury find him guilty? And if so, would they send him to the
Pen? His heart sank at that, for the name of "ex-convict" is something
that cannot be laid. No matter what the crime or the circumstances of
the trial, once a man is convicted and sent to prison that name can
always be hurled at him--and Denver knew that he was not guilty.

He had no recollection of even drawing his gun, to say nothing of
striking at Meacham; and yet Chatwourth and his gang would swear him
into prison if something was not done to stop them. They had come before
the magistrate all agreeing to the same story--that Denver had picked a
fight with his old enemy, Meacham, and struck him over the head with his
six-shooter. And then they showed Denver's pistol; the one he had
borrowed from Bunker, all gory with hair and blood. It was a frame-up
and he knew it, for they had all been striking at him and one of them
had probably hit Meacham; but how was he to prove to the satisfaction of
the court that Murray's hired gun-men were trying to hang him? Hi