hyer town, I wish to say right now that the Old Juan claim can't
be jumped by _nobody_!"

"Just a moment, Mr. Hicks!" interrupted Jepson patiently, but the mob
was shouting him down.

"It's a lie!" yelled Bray from his place against the window. "I jumped
that claim for myself! I jumped it myself; and Rimrock Jones, nor none
of his friends, can't come and take it away!"

"Oh, they can't, hey?" thundered a voice and Mary started as she saw a
tall form through the crowd. It was L. W. Lockhart, the man who had
sold Rimrock out and allowed the Old Juan to lapse. "They can't, you
say? Well, I want to tell you they _can_! And, gun-play or not, they
_will_!"

His high hat surged forward into the forbidden space that Bray had
cleared with his gun and then a pistol shot rang out. The next moment
the glass windows were swaying and bending beneath the weight of the
mob. There was a babel of shouting, a quick surge forward and then the
crowd gave back. L. W. was coming out and as they gave way before him
he addressed the men of Gunsight.

"I've got 'im, boys!" he cried in a frenzy, "come on, we'll string 'im
up! We'll show 'im if he can jump Rimrock's claim!"

He came striding from the crowd, one arm hanging limp the other
dragging the cursing Ike Bray.

"You got me!" he snarled, shaking Bray like a rat, "but dang you, I've
got you, too!"

The mob fell in behind, but as they passed Mary's automobile Bray
reached out and clutched it with both hands.

"Let go!" commanded L. W., still dragging at his collar while his
bloody arm flapped with each jerk. "Let go, you dastard, or I'll skin
you alive--you can't run no sandy over me! The man don't live, so help
me God, that can rob a friend of mine!"

He turned back impatiently, but as he raised his boot to stamp on the
clinging hands his eyes met Mary Fortune's.

"Don't let him kill me, lady!" gasped Ike Bray imploringly as he felt
L. W.'s grip relax. "I only shot in self-defense."

"You'd better let him in here," suggested Mary as she hurriedly threw
open the door. "I think it will be better that way."

"No, he robbed old Rimmy!" sobbed L. W. hysterically, "the best friend
I ever had. And I was drunk and let the assessment work lapse. My
God, he'll kill me for this!"

"No, he won't!" she said and as she touched his hand L. W. let go and
backed away.

"Well, all right, Miss Fortune," he stammered brokenly, "but--but he's
got to git out of town!"

"I'll