no farther. In the midst of the mass of spectators
there was a sudden tumult, a scattering from one spot as from a lighted
bomb.

"Make way!" demanded an insistent voice. "Let me through!" And
for a moment, forgetting the other interest, the spectators turned to
this newer one.

At first they could distinguish nothing perfectly; then amidst the
confusion they made out the form of a long-armed, long-faced youth, his
head lowered, his shoulder before him like a wedge, crowding his way to
the fore.

"Make room there!" he repeated. "Make room!" and again into the crowd,
like a snow-plough into a drift, he penetrated until his momentum was
exhausted, then paused for a fresh plunge.

But before him a pathway was forming. Seemingly the thing was
impossible, but the trick of a spoken name was sufficient.

"It's Ben Blair!" someone had announced, and others had loudly taken up
the cry. "It's Ben Blair! Let him through!"

Along the pathway thus cleared the youth made his way and approached the
centre of activity. Previously the drama had moved swiftly,--so swiftly
that the spectators could merely watch developments, but under the
interruption it halted. The man at the pony's bridle--cowboy Buck it
was--paused, uncertain what to do, doubtful of the intent of the
long-faced man who so suddenly had come beside him. Not so Mick Kennedy.
Well he knew what was in store, and reaching over he gave the pony a
resounding slap on the flank.

"Let him go, Buck!" he commanded of the cowboy. "Hurry!"

But already he was too late. With a grip like a trap, Ben's hand was
likewise on the rein, holding the little beast, despite his struggles,
fairly in his tracks. Ben's head turned, met the bartender's Cyclopean
eye squarely, and held it with a look this bulldozer of men had never
before received in all his checkered career.

"Mick Kennedy," he said quietly, "another move like that, and in five
minutes you'll be hanging from the other side."

For the fraction of a second there was a pause; but, short as it was,
the Irishman felt the sweat start. "The day of such as you has passed,
Mick Kennedy."

There was no time for more. As bystanders gather around a street fight,
the grim cowmen had closed in from all sides. On the outskirts men
mounted each other's shoulders the better to see. Of a sudden, from
behind, Ben felt himself grasped by a multitude of hands. Angry voices
sounded in his ears.

"String him up too if he interferes!" sug