Such were the commands shouted, as the men hopped about in their excitement. The combatants came to the ground together, Clayton underneath. Molloy had his arms around Clayton, and now tried to push his head against the ground, and at the same time batter him in the face. In the opinion of the watching men, Pool Clayton was as good as whipped, but with a mighty effort he twisted round, half rising; and then, catching Molloy about the waist and shoulders, he lifted the young bully and threw him through the air. Molloy fell on his head and shoulders, a crashing fall, and lay still, after sliding out on the ground in a limp heap. The thing was done so quickly, and was such a surprise, that the men stood in breathless silence, staring. Then one of them came up to Clayton and offered his hand, which Clayton took. “I didn’t think ye’d do it, Pool,” he confessed. “But you’re a game rooster, after all; and here’s my hand on’t!” Molloy groaned, writhed about, and then came slowly to a sitting position, dabbing at his face weakly with his hands, and fluttering his eyelids. For a minute he didn’t know what had happened to him. Then he saw the grinning faces about him, and Pool Clayton standing, white-faced and with arms folded, near by. At sight of that face, evoking recollections of what had happened, Molloy uttered a scream of rage, and drew his revolver. He leveled it quick as a flash and fired, uttering an oath as he did so. Instantly, however, one of the outlaws sprang at him and succeeded in striking his arm, thus turning the weapon aside. He pushed Molloy back violently, and took the revolver from his hands. “None o’ that!” he cried sternly. “We don’t do that kind o’ work, ye know! If you’re licked, you’re licked; and you’d ought to take it like a man.” Molloy turned on him, springing to his feet. “Gimme my revolver!” he commanded. The man tossed it to one of his friends. “Not on yer life. I don’t!” “I’m boss here, ain’t I? Gimme that revolver!” “And let ye shoot Clayton?” “That’s none of your bizness! Gimme that revolver!” The man stood facing him. “See here!” he said. “We reports this biz to Snaky Pete, and Snaky Pete ain’t goin’ to like it. And we don’t take no more orders frum you while he’s gone. Do you git that through yer head, or do I have to hammer it into it with my fist? You’re no longer boss of this outfit. Ben, there, takes yer place; and he’s got yer revolver. Now go off some’eres and think it over.” Molloy might have protested further, but that a feeling of dizzy faintness came upon him, and he had to drop to a seat on the ground. Pool Clayton felt bewildered, rather than exultant, and he had forebodings. He did not know how this whole thing would be regarded by Snaky Pete. He walked out to his horse, after putting his coat on, and changed the picket pin, trying to find something to occupy himself with, while he could think. Finally he came back and sat down by the fire.