Far away came the rush of hoofs over a hard trail. Only a minute more and they would be here; only a minute more and the room would be full of fighting men ready to die with him and for him. Yet Pierre was glad; glad that he could meet the danger alone; ten minutes from now, if he lived, he could answer certainly one way or the other the greatest of all questions: "Am I a man?" Out of the inner room the pleasant voice which he dreaded answered: "What's up?" The barkeeper glanced Pierre le Rouge over again and then answered: "A friend with a message." The door opened and framed McGurk. He did not start, seeing Pierre. He said: "None of the rest of them had the guts even to bring me the message, eh?" Pierre shrugged his shoulders. It was a mighty effort, but he was able to look his man fairly in the eyes. "All right, lad. How long is it going to take you to clear out of the country?" "That's not the message," answered a voice which Pierre did not recognize as his own. "Out with it, then." "It's in the leather on my hip." And he went for his gun. Even as he started his hand he knew that he was too slow for McGurk, yet the finest splitsecond watch in the world could not have caught the differing time they needed to get their guns out of the holsters. Just a breath before Pierre fired there was a stunning blow on his right shoulder and another on his hip. He lurched to the floor, his revolver clattering against the wood as he fell, but falling, he scooped up the gun with his left and twisted. That movement made the third shot of McGurk fly wide and Pierre fired from the floor and saw a spasm of pain contract the face of the outlaw. Instantly the door behind him flew open and Boone's men stormed into the room. Once more McGurk fired, but his wound made his aim wide and the bullet merely tore up a splinter beside Pierre's head. A fusillade from Boone and his men answered, but the outlaw had leaped back through the door. "He's hurt," thundered Boone. "By God, the charm of McGurk is broken. Dick, Bud, Gandil, take the outside of the place. I'll force the door." Wilbur and the other two raced through the door and raised a shout at once, and then there was a rattle of shots. Big Patterson leaned over Pierre. He said in an awe-stricken voice: "Lad, it's a great work that you've done for all of us, if you've drawn the blood from McGurk." "His left shoulder," said Pierre, and smiled in spite of his pain. "And you, lad?" "I'm going to live; I've got to finish the job. Who's that beside you? There's a mist over my eyes." "It's Jack. She outrode us all." Then the mist closed over the eyes of Pierre and his senses went out in the dark. CHAPTER 15