Under this pressure, the constable ran along after the crowd, in an attempt to stop it. He reached them as they stood about the little porch of the house, packed closely around Barney and Sam, who said nothing, but followed Barney like his shadow. If the sun had been shining, it might not have happened as it did; but there was a semi-obscurity, a weird half-light shed by the thick sky and falling snow, which somehow encouraged the enraged ruffians, who pounded on the door just as the pleading voice of the constable was heard. "Hold on, gentlemen! This is ag'inst the law--" "Law to--!" said some one. "This is a case f'r something besides law." "Open up there!" roared the raucous voice of Barney Mace, as he pounded at the door fiercely. The door opened, and the wife appeared, one child in her arms, the other at her side. "What do you want?" "Where's that banker? Tell the thief to come out here! We want to talk with him." The woman did not quail, but her face seemed a ghastly yellow, seen through the falling snow. "He can't come. He's sick." "Sick! We'll sick 'im! Tell 'im t' come out, or we'll snake 'im out by the heels." The crowd laughed. The worst elements of the saloons surrounded the two half-savage men. It was amusing to them to see the woman face them all in that way. "Where's McPhail?" Vance inquired, anxiously. "Somebody find McPhail." "Stand out o' the way!" snarled Barney, as he pushed the struggling woman aside. The wife raised her voice to that wild, animal-like pitch a woman uses when desperate. "I sha'n't do it, I tell you! Help!" "Keep out o' my way, or I'll wring y'r neck f'r yeh." She struggled with him, but he pushed her aside and entered the room. "What's goin' on here?" called the ringing voice of Andrew McPhail, who had just driven up with Link. Several of the crowd looked over their shoulders at McPhail. "Hello, Mac! Just in time. Oh, nawthin'. Barney's callin' on the banker, that's all." Over the heads of the crowd, packed struggling about the door, came the woman's scream again. McPhail dashed around the crowd, running two or three of them down, and entered the back door. Vance, McIlvaine, and Lincoln followed him. "Cowards!" the wife said, as the ruffians approached the bed. They swept her aside, but paused an instant before the glance of the sick man's eye. He lay there, desperately, deathly sick. The blood throbbed in his whirling brain, his eyes were bloodshot and blinded, his strength was gone. He could hardly speak. He partly rose and stretched out his hand, and then fell back. "Kill me--if you want to--but let her--alone. She's--" The children were crying. The wind whistled drearily across the room, carrying the evanescent flakes of soft snow over the heads of the pausing, listening crowd in the doorway. Quick steps were heard. "Hold on there!" cried McPhail, as he burst into the room. He seemed an angel of God to the wife and mother.