Watchful as he was, Dave did not anticipate what was coming. As the table toppled over he sprang to his feet, the forward thrust of his head in this action moving in contrary direction to the hurtling fist of Gottleib, which stopped very suddenly against his nose. Dave staggered backward, stumbled over his chair and went crashing to the floor, where he lay for an instant dazed. "By Jove! that was a facer," cried the appreciative Whitby. The others were ominously quiet. The next moment Dave was on his feet, white with murderous rage. There was more than fallen dignity to revenge: Gottleib knew too much. Without the least hesitation his gun slanted and the roar of the discharge was echoed by Gottleib’s plunging fall. A frenzied scream, feminine in shrillness, rang through the room. Dave’s gun dropped from his hand and he sank to the floor; a whiskey bottle, flying the length of the room, had struck him on the head, and Boomerang, struggling with maniacal fury in the arms of several men, strove to follow his missile. At the other end of the bar the numbed Pickles suddenly came to life and leaped to the floor. Caught and stopped in his frantic rush across the room he kicked and struck at his captor. "Lemme go!" he shrieked, "lemme go! I ’ll kill the —— ——" The men holding Boomerang ran him to the open hall door and gave him forcible exit and the stern command to "Git! an’ keep a-goin’." A sullen murmur swelling to low growls of anger formed an undertone to the boy’s hysterical cries, as the men looked on at Tex’s efforts to revive the stunned culprit. "Lynch him!" growled a voice. "Lynch him!" echoed over the room. "Lynch him!" shouted a dozen men, and Tex ceased his efforts and came on guard barely in time to stop a concerted rush. Straddling the recumbent figure, his blazing eyes shocked the crowd to a stand-still. With a motion quicker than a striking rattler a gun in either hand threatened the waverers. "Dutchy ’s got a gun," he rebuked them; "he was a-reachin’ for it when he dropped." "That’s correct," agreed a backward member. "Sure. I seen him a-goin’ for it," affirmed another. They gathered about Gottleib to look for the proof. Suddenly the door was flung open and Rose LaFrance stood in the opening. "What are you doing?" she questioned. "What is the matter with Fritz? Come here, Fritz." The boy, released and subsiding into gasping sobs, staggered weakly toward her. She drew him close and folded him in her arms. The men, silent and abashed, in moving to allow the boy to pass, had disclosed to her the figure of the prone Gottleib and she understood. "Oh-h!" she breathed and looked slowly from one to another, her gaze resting last on Tex, the fallen table hiding from her the man he was protecting. Utter loathing was in her look and the innocent Tex was stung to defiance by it, throwing back his head and returning stare for stare.