kain't clean us out. I'll shoot
the livin' soul out o' any man that touches that door! This here is
the jail, an' I'm the deppity, and, by ----! you'll not have my
prisoner!"

"Quite right, me man," said a cool voice at Curly's side, and a hand
fell on his shoulder as a tall form loomed up in the crowd. "There's
good matayrial in you, me bully. Hould yer position, an' be sure that
Batty's with you, at the laste. Fair play's a jule, an' it's fair play
we're goin' to have here."

Backed by a crowd of men whose resolution was as firm as their own,
these three fell back in front of the door. Franklin felt his heart
going fast, and knew that more was asked of him here than had ever been
upon the field of battle; yet he was exultant at the discovery that he
had no thought of wavering. He knew then that he had been proved.
With equal joy he looked upon the face of Curly, frowning underneath
the pushed-back hat, and upon that of Battersleigh, keen-looking,
eager, as though about to witness some pleasurable, exciting thing.
Yet he knew the men in front were as brave as they, and as desperately
resolved. In a moment, he reflected, the firing would begin. He saw
Curly's hands lying lightly upon the butts of his revolvers. He saw
Battersleigh draw his revolver and push with the side of the barrel
against the nearest men as though to thrust them back. He himself
crowded to the fore, eager, expectant, prepared. One shot, and a score
of lives were done, and dark indeed would be this night in Ellisville.

Suddenly the climax came. The door was thrust irresistibly open, not
from without, but from within. Stooping, so that his head might clear
its top, the enormous figure of Juan, the Mexican, appeared in the
opening. He looked out, ignorant of the real reason of this tumult,
yet snuffing conflict as does the bear not yet assailed. His face,
dull and impassive, was just beginning to light up with suspicion and
slow rage.

A roar of anger and excitement rose as the prisoner was seen standing
there before them, though outlined only by the dim light of the sky.
Every man in the assailing party sprang toward the building. The cries
became savage, beastlike. It was no longer human beings who contended
over this poor, half-witted being, but brutes, less reasonable than he.

Juan left the door. He swept Franklin and Curly and Battersleigh aside
as though they were but babes. It was his purpose to rush out, to
strike,