He had dropped the match into the pool of oil from the smashed lamp. Joe backed away from it; backed almost into the bar before he turned and saw Bud. But Bud had risen to his haunches and launched himself straight into the surprised half-breed. Joe was as lithe as a tiger, and, although Bud's attack carried him almost into the flames, he twisted loose and bounded toward the stairway. A cloud of kerosene-laden smoke billowed up through the trap. Someone yelled a warning and before Joe could reach the top of the stairs the trap crashed down. Bud had lost his gun and now he darted back to the bar, searching for it. Joe must have divined Bud's misfortune, for, with a yelp of joy, he darted back from the stairs, knife in hand. It seemed as if the whole end of the room was in flames now and the black smoke was stifling. Bud braced himself for the shock, but the half-breed did not come to close quarters. He stopped just out of reach, half crouched, the knife held point outward, as though he was using a rapier. The light glistened on the polished blade, but Bud did not retreat. Joe's face was scarred and bleeding from the fight in the dark, which had but increased the injuries inflicted by Bud in Beaudet's store. Joe balanced on the balls of his feet and worked in closer and closer. Bud was standing almost over his revolver, but did not dare to stoop for it. Behind Joe the flames roared upward, licking at the beamed ceiling, and the heat was growing intense. "You finish queek now!" said Joe. Bud began working slowly toward the bar, dragging the gun with his foot. Joe advanced inches at a time. He did not understand what Bud was trying to do. Then his eyes flashed to the bar--and he knew. The keg, with its scarlet coat, had fallen to the floor, but the wide hat was still there, partly concealing the bottle, on which it had rested. Quick as a flash Joe darted forward, but Bud, instead of reaching for the bottle, as Joe expected him to, dropped flat on the floor under Joe's feet, rolling forward as he fell. The move was so unexpected that Joe took a header into the bar, while Bud rolled away and sprang to his feet clutching the revolver in one hand. The fall did not hurt Joe. He had lost his knife, but not his presence of mind. He scrambled to his feet and darted straight for the tunnel exit, but Bud blocked him with a swing of the heavy revolver and Joe went down in a heap. The room was an inferno now. Bud grasped the limp half-breed, swung him up in his arms and staggered into the tunnel. There was less smoke in there, owing to a breeze outside, which drove the smoke up through the cracks on the room above. Bud was traveling blindly, holding Joe in front of him and hoping against hope that there would be no one guarding the tunnel entrance. But his hopes were not realized. He caught a glimpse of the lantern and could see that it was held in the hands of a man. There were other men out there, too. Bud halted.