"The road to hell, yes," Montoyo coolly remarked. "I'd guarantee you quick passage. Good-day." With sudden steely glare that embraced us both he jumped his mount into a gallop and tore past the team, for the front. He must have inquired, once or twice, as to the whereabouts of the Captain's party; I saw fingers pointing. "Here! You've swapped collars on your lead span, boy," Mr. Jenks reproved--but he likewise fumbling while he gazed. I could hold back no longer. "Just a minute, if you please," I pleaded; and hastened on up, half running in my anxiety to face the worst; to help, if I might, for the best. A little knot of people had formed, constantly increasing by oncomers like myself and friend Jenks who had lumbered behind me. Montoyo's horse stood heaving, on the outskirts; and ruthlessly pushing through I found him inside, with My Lady at bay before him--her eyes brilliant, her cheeks hot, her two hands clenched tightly, her slim figure dangerously tense within her absurd garment, and the arm of the brightly flushed but calm Rachael resting restraintfully around her. The circling faces peered. Captain Adams, at one side apart, was replying to the gambler. His small china-blue eyes had begun to glint; otherwise he maintained an air of stolidity as if immune to the outcome. "You see her," he said. "She has had the care of my own household, for I turn nobody away. She came against my will, and she shall go of her will. I am not her keeper." "You Mormons have the advantage of us white men, sir," Montoyo sneered. "No one of the sex seems to be denied bed and board in your establishments." "By the help of the Lord we of the elect can manage our establishments much better than you do yours," big Hyrum responded; and his face sombered. "Who are you? A panderer to the devil, a thief with painted card-boards, a despoiler of the ignorant, and a feeder to hell--yea, a striker of women and a trafficker in flesh! Who are you, to think the name of the Lord's anointed? There she is, your chattel. Take her, or leave her. This train starts on in ten minutes." "I'll take her or kill her," Montoyo snarled. "You call me a feeder, but she shall not be fed to your mill, Adams. You'll get on that horse pronto, madam," he added, stepping forward (no one could question his nerve), "and we'll discuss our affairs in private." She cast about with swift beseeching look, as if for a friendly face or sign of rescue. And that agonized quest was enough. Whether she saw me or not, here I was. With a spring I had burst in. But somebody already had drawn fresh attention. Daniel Adams was standing between her and her husband. "Say, Mister, will yu fight?" he drawled, breathing hard, his broad nostrils quivering. A silence fell. Singularly, the circle parted right and left in a jostle and a scramble. Montoyo surveyed him. "Why?" "For her, o' course." The gambler smiled--a slow, contemptuous smile while his gray eyes focused watchfully.