An instant before he had not cared what happened. Now he did, and the end was not the only thing in view; the means counted with Young VB. He did not jump for shelter. He roared his rage as he prepared to stand and fight. The others understood before his hand reached his shirt front. The bartender dropped behind the fixture and the others in the room sprang behind the barrels and stove. By the time VB's hand had clasped the neck of his shirt he stood alone. When the vicious yank he gave the garment ripped it open from throat halfway to waist the first belch of fire came from that gun out there. The bottle on the bar exploded, fine bits of glass shooting to the far corners of the room. "Come on--you--yellow--" VB's fingers found the butt of his Colt, closed and yanked. It came from the holster, poised, muzzle upward, his thumb over the hammer. Possibly he stood thus a tenth part of a second, but while he waited for his eyes to focus well a generation seemed to parade past. He was hunted down by a crawling piece of vermin! A parallel sprang to his mind. While Rhues sought his body did not another viper seek his soul? Was-- Then he made out the figure--crouched low. The forty-five came down, and the room resounded with its roar. He stood there, a greenhorn who had never handled a weapon in his life until the last year, giving battle to a gun fighter whose name was a synonym! Out of the moonlight came another flash, and before VB could answer the hunched figure had leaped from the area framed by the doorway. "You won't stand!" the boy cried, and strode across the room. "Don't be a fool! VB!" The bartender's warning might as well have been unheard. Straight for the open door went the boy, gun raised, coughing from the powder smoke. But the mustached man, though panderer by profession, revolted at unfairness; perhaps it was through the boy's ignorance, but he knew VB walked only to become a target. Twice his gun roared from behind the bar and the two swinging lamps became scattered, tinkling fragments. VB seemed not to heed, not to notice that he was in darkness. He reached the door, put his left hand against the casing, and looked out. With lights behind he would have been riddled on the instant. But, looking from blackness to moonlight, he was invisible for the moment--but only for a moment. The stream of yellow stabbed at him again and Young VB, as though under the blow of a sledge, spun round and was flattened against the wall. His left breast seemed to be in flames. He reached for it, fired aimlessly with the other hand in the direction of his hidden foe, and let the gun clatter to the floor. He wondered if it were death--that darkness. He felt the fanning of the wind, heard, dimly, its uneasy soughing. It was very dark.