ho never until now had come out into the open in
defiance of the law, must swallow his words under the eyes of his own
gang, or once and for all forsake the semi-security behind his ambush.
Again issues were clear cut.

He answered the sheriff with a curse and a stream of lead. As he fired
he threw himself to the side, the old trick, his gun little higher than
his hip, and fired again. And shot for shot Norton answered him.

Though but half the length of a room lay between them, as yet, neither
man was hurt. For no longer were they in the rich light of the
swinging coal-oil lamp; the room was gathered in pitch darkness; their
guns spat long tongues of vivid flame. For, just as Kid Ricard was
falling, while Jim Galloway's finger was crooked to the trigger, while
Antone was whipping up his gun behind the bar, there had come a shot
from the card-room door shattering the lamp. Neither Norton nor
Galloway, Rickard nor Vidal Nunez, nor Antone nor any of the other men
in the room saw who had fired the shot.

As the light went out Norton leaped away from the door, having little
wish to stand silhouetted against the rectangle of pale light from the
outer night; and, leaping, he poured in his fourth and fifth and sixth
shots in the quarter where he hoped to find Galloway. But always he
remembered where he had seen Elmer Page standing, and always he
remembered Antone behind the bar, and Vidal Nunez drawn back into a
corner. His forty-five emptied, he jammed it back into its holster and
stood rigid, staring into the blackness about him, every sense on the
qui vive. Galloway had given over shooting; he might be dead or merely
waiting. Vidal had held his fire, seeming frightened, uncertain, half
stunned. Antone would be leaning forward, peering with frowning eyes,
trying to locate him.

It swept into Norton's mind suddenly that thus, in utter and unexpected
darkness, he had the upper hand. He could shoot, the law riding upon
each flying pellet of lead, and be it Jim Galloway or Antone or Vidal,
or any other of Galloway's crowd who fell, it would be a man who richly
deserved what his fate was bringing him. They, on the other hand,
being many against one, must be careful which way they shot.

He had come for Vidal Nunez. The man he wanted was yonder, but a few
feet from him. Duty and desire pointed across the room to the obscure
corner. He moved a cautious foot. The floor complained under his
shifting weight and fr