f citizens, leading the
way for Christler's deputies, was storming McCoppet's saloon.

He heard, and a little understood. He knew too much to attempt to
explain, to accuse even Trimmer to a mob in heat. Nothing but flight
was possible, and perhaps even that was a risk.

He started for the window. Trimmer leaped before him.

"No you don't!" he said. "I told you, Opal----"

"Take that!" the gambler cut in sharply. His gun leaped out with flame
at its end; and the roar, fire, bullet, and all seemed to bury in the
lumberman's body. A second shot and a third did the same--and Trimmer
went down like a log.

His gun had fallen from his hand. With all his brute vitality he
crawled to take it up. One of the bullets had pierced his heart, but
yet he would not die.

McCoppet had snatched up a chair and with it he beat out the window.
Then Trimmer's gun crashed tremendously--and Opal sank against the sill.

He faced his man. A ghastly pallor spread upon his countenance. He
went down slowly, like a man of melting snow, his cigar still hanging
on his lip.

He saw the lumberman shiver. But the fellow crowded his cigar stump in
his mouth, with fire and all, and chewed it up as he was dying.

"Good shot," said McCoppet faintly. His head went forward on his
breast and he crumpled on the floor.

CHAPTER XLVI

WASTED TIME

Van was conveyed to Mrs. Dick's. The fever attacked him in his
helplessness and delirium claimed him for its own. He glided from
unconsciousness into a wandering state of mind before the hour of noon.

His wound was an ugly, fiery affair, made worse by all that he did.
For having returned from his lethargy, he promptly began to fight anew
all his battles with horses, men, and love that had crossed his summer
orbit.

Gettysburg, Dave, and Napoleon begged for the brunt of the battle.
They got it. For three long days Van lay upon his bed and flung them
all around the room. He hurt them, bruised them, even called them
names, but ever like three faithful dogs, whom beatings will never
discourage--the beatings at least of a master much beloved--they
returned undaunted to the fray, with affection constantly increasing.

There were three other nurses--two women and Algy, the cook. But Beth
was the one who slept the least, who glided most often to the sick
man's side, who wetted his lips and renewed the ice and gave him a
cooler pillow. And she it was who suffered most when he called upo