"Air you agoin' to open?" sung out a harsh voice, at the close of a muttered consultation. "We know you, Smokestack Bill, and we've nothin' again you. But that pizen skunk, the white Injun, we're bound to have him if we burn down the old log to do it. So you come out of it, Bill, right along, while you can." "You be advised, Dan Harper," cried the scout in reply. "You're a dead man this very night if you don't git--mind me." "So are a dozen of you, by God!" sung out Vipan. He knew the whole business was a deliberate plan to take his life. The ruffian whom he had felled was to pick a quarrel and shoot him on sight, while his scoundrelly mates stood ready to make sure of him if the first part of the scheme miscarried. A roar went up from the crowd. "Let's get at him! What'll we do with him, boys?" "Tar and feather him!" "Burn him at the stake!" "Scalp him!" "String him up!" were some of the yells that burst from the maddened throng as it surged round the building, narrowly scanning every door and window for a chance of forcing an entrance. But the defenders of the inner room knew better than to be caught that way. "One minute before you begin any tricks," cried the scout, and his voice had the dangerous ring about it of that of an ordinarily cool and quiet man roused at last. "One minute, and just listen to me. We've molested nobody, and don't want to molest nobody. Bitter Rube in here picked a quarrel with my pardner and got knocked down. If he'd done it with any of you boys he'd have been shot dead. He'll be shot before anyone gets in here--" "Darn Bitter Rube! Serve the bunglin' fool right! What do we care about Bitter Rube? It's the pizen white Injun we're going to lynch--and lynch him we will--by God!" "Try it!" rejoined the scout. "There'll be a few of you dead in your boots before mornin', I reckon. And anyone who thinks Smokestack Bill the boy to go back on a pardner is makin' an almighty big error in the undertaking. So now, stand clear for squalls." A roar and a yell was the only reply. A deafening crash, as some of the rioters in the outer saloon vented their rage in smashing all the glass they could lay hands on; then a shock, as the end of a beam, wielded as a battering ram, came full against the door. A couple of flashes and reports, mingling like a single one. The beam fell to the earth at the same time as three of its bearers, whom the fire of the besieged, discharged through a chink at such close quarters, had literally raked in line. The remainder promptly got out of the way. "Put in the faggot. Don't give any of the skunks a further show," yelled the frantic mob, exasperated by this reverse. And a rush was made for the further end of the building. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. JUDGE LYNCH TAKES A BACK SEAT.