“Put him in a car,” Whitefield directed his companions; and it was done. “Whitefield,” called a voice, “you hain’t goin’ to interfere? You hain’t goin’ to stop us?” “I got nothin’ to do with you,” Whitefield said. “I got what I come for.” The cars filled again, the obstruction was removed, and once again the men of Gibeon moved toward their objective. They reached it, surrounded it, men burst in its doors and laid hands upon whomever they found.... Carmel, well escorted, ran up the stairs. “That’s the door,” she cried, and powerful shoulders thrust it from its hinges. “Evan!...” she cried. “Evan!...” He lay upon the floor, motionless. Carmel knelt beside him, frantic at the sight of his motionlessness. She lifted his head to her lap, peered into his white face, stared at his closed eyes. “They’ve killed him,” she said, in a dull, dead voice. “We’ve come too late.” Mr. Hopper, of the Gibeon bank, thrust his hand inside Evan’s shirt to feel for the beating of his heart.... It was distinguishable, faint but distinguishable. “He’s not dead,” said Hopper, “but somebody’s beat hell out of him.” They lifted him gently and carried him down the stairs. Carmel walked by his side, silent, stunned.... He was not dead, but he was horribly injured. He would die.... She knew she would never again see his eyes looking into hers. They placed him in a car, and she sat, supporting his weight, her arm about him, his head heavy upon her breast.... “Everybody out?” roared a voice. “Everybody’s out!” Carmel saw a light appear inside the hotel, a light cast by no lamp or lantern.... It increased, leaped, flamed. Room after room was touched by the illumination. It climbed the stairs, roared outward through windows, spreading, crackling, hissing, devouring.... In a dozen minutes the Lakeside Hotel was wrapped in flame--a beacon light in Gibeon’s history. High and higher mounted the flames until the countryside for miles about was lighted by it, notified by it that a thing was happening, that Gibeon was being purified by fire. “Is there no doctor here?” Carmel cried. “Doc Stewart’s some’eres.... I’ll git him.” The doctor was found and came. He examined Evan as best he could. “Better get him to town. Can’t tell much now.... Depends on whether there’s concussion.... I’ll go along with you.” “Before you go, Miss Lee--where--is the sheriff? Sheriff Churchill?” “Follow the shore--that way. You’ll find him--on the edge.” “We got Peewee Bangs--he was hidin’ in a boat-house.” “I--I’m glad,” said Carmel.