For a brief space it looked as if no one had nerve enough to accept his challenge, and Buck shot a sudden appraising glance toward the outer door, between which and them their assailants crowded thickest. But before he could plan a way to rush the throng, that same sharp voice sounded from the rear which before had stirred the greasers into action, and six or seven of them began to creep warily forward. Their movements were plainly reluctant, however, and of a sudden Stratton gave a spring which carried him within reaching distance of the two foremost. Gripping each by a collar, he cracked their heads together thrice in swift succession, hurled their limp bodies from him, grabbed another chair from the floor, and was back beside Jessup before any of their startled companions had time to stir. "Now's the time to rush 'em, kid," he panted in Jessup's ear. "When I give the word--" He broke off abruptly as the front door was flung suddenly open and a sharp, incisive, dominant voice rang through the room. "What in hell 's doing here?" For a fraction of a second the silence was intense. Then like a flash a man leaped up and flung himself through the window, while three others plunged out of the rear door and disappeared. Others were crowding after them when there came a sudden spurt of flame, the sharp sound of a pistol-shot, and a bullet buried itself in the casing of the rear door. "Stand still, every damn' one of you," ordered the new-comer. He strode down the room through the light powder-haze and paused before Stratton, tall, wide-shouldered, and lean of flank, with a thin, hawklike face and penetrating gray eyes. "Well?" he questioned curtly. "What's it all about? That scoundrel been selling licker again?" "Not to us," snapped Buck. "Are you Hardenberg?" he added, with sudden inspiration. "I am." "Well, you're the cause of our being in here." The gray eyes studied him narrowly. "How come?" "I came to town to see you specially and was told by a man outside that you were making a raid on this joint. We hadn't been inside three minutes before we found it was a plant to get us here and knife us." "I don't get you," remarked the sheriff in a slightly puzzled tone. By this time Buck's momentary irritation at the hint that it was all merely a drunken quarrel was dying away. "I don't wonder," he returned in a more amiable tone. "It's a long story--too long to tell just now. I can only say that we were attacked without cause by the whole gang here, and if you hadn't shown up just now, it's a question whether we'd have gotten away alive." The sheriff's glance swept over the disordered room, taking in the shattered window, the bodies on the floor, the Mexican who crouched moaning in a corner, and returned to Stratton's face. "I'm not so sure about that last," he commented, with a momentary grim smile. "What's your name?" "Buck Green." "Oh! You wrote me a letter--" "Sure. I'll explain about that later. Meanwhile--"