The crowd drew back and watched the combat; watched with unconcern until they saw their comrade, Rummey Joe, weakening in the grasp of his antagonist; until knives flashed in the hand of each, and fierce blows were struck on both sides. Then, when Rummey Joe, uttering a shriek of pain, went down underneath the knife of the victor, there was a roar and a rush, and the man who had conquered their favorite was borne down by half a dozen strong arms, menaced by as many sharp, glittering knives. But again the scene shifted. An agile form was bounding about among them; blows fell swift as rain; there was a lull in the combat, and when the wildly struggling figures, some scattered upon the floor, some thrown back upon each other, recovered from their consternation, they saw that the convict had struggled up upon one elbow, while, directly astride of his prostrate body, stood the man who had asked for his credentials, fierce contempt in his face, and, in either hand, a heavy six shooter. "Don't pull, boys, I've got the drop on ye! Cowards, to tackle a single man, six of ye!" "By Heavens, he's killed Rummey!" "No matter; it was a fair fight, and Rummey at the bottom of the blame." "All the same he'll never kill a pal of ours, and live to tell it! Stand off, Cully Devens!" "_No, sir!_ I am going to take this wounded man out of this without another scratch, if I have to send every mother's son of you to perdition." His voice rang out clear and commanding. In the might of his wrath, he had forgotten the language of Cully Devens and spoken as a man to cowards. The effect was electrical. From among the men standing at bay, one sprang forward, crying: "Boys, here's a traitor amongst us! Who are ye, ye sneak, that has played yerself fer Cully Devens?" [Illustration: "Don't pull, boys, I've got the drop on ye!"--page 58.] The lithe body bent slightly forward, a low laugh crossed the lips of the bogus Cully, the brown eyes lighted up, and flashed in the eyes of the men arrayed against him. Then came the answer, coolly, as if the announcement were scarcely worth making: "Richard Stanhope is my name, and I've got a trump here for every trick you can show me. Step up, boys, don't be bashful!" CHAPTER VI. STANHOPE'S HUMANITY. "Richard Stanhope is my name, and I've got a trump here for every trick you can show me. Step up, boys, don't be bashful!" Momentous silence followed this announcement, while the _habitues_ of the Thieves' Tavern glanced into each others' faces in consternation. An ordinary meddler, however much his courage and skill, would have met with summary chastisement; but _Dick Stanhope_! Not a man among them but knew the result of an attack upon him. Bullets swift and sure, in the brains or hearts of some; certain vengeance, sooner or later, upon all.