Sanderson was bending over him, preparing to carry him to his room, when there came an interruption. A big man, with a drawn six-shooter, stepped to Sanderson's side. A dozen more shoved forward and stood near him, the crowd moving back, Sanderson sensed the movement and stood erect, leaving Owen still on the floor. One look at the hostile faces around him convinced Sanderson that the men were there by design. He grinned mirthlessly into the face of the man with the drawn pistol. "Frame-up, eh?" he said. "What's the game?" "You're wanted for drawin' a gun on Dave Silverthorn--in his office. I'm a deputy sheriff, an' I've got a warrant for you. Want to see it?" Sanderson did not answer. Here was a manifestation of Dale's power and cupidity. The charge was a mere subterfuge, designed to deprive him of his liberty. Sanderson had no intention of submitting. The deputy saw resistance in the gleam of Sanderson's eyes, and he spoke sharply, warningly: "Don't try any funny business; I've a dozen men here!" Sanderson laughed in his face. He lunged forward, striking bitterly with the movement. The deputy's body doubled forward--Sanderson's fist had been driven into his stomach. His gun clattered to the floor; he reached out, trying to grasp Sanderson, who evaded him and struck upward viciously. The deputy slid to the floor, and Sanderson stood beside the table, his gun menacing the deputy's followers. Sanderson had worked fast. Possibly the deputy's men had anticipated no resistance from Sanderson, or they had been stunned with the rapidity with which he had placed their leader out of action. Not one of them had drawn a weapon. They watched Sanderson silently as he began to back away from them, still covering them with his pistol. Sanderson had decided to desert Owen; the man had proved a traitor, and could not expect any consideration. Owen might talk--Sanderson expected he would talk; but he did not intend to jeopardize his liberty by staying to find out. He stepped backward cautiously, for he saw certain of the men begin to move restlessly. He cautioned them, swinging the muzzle of his pistol back and forth, the crowd behind him splitting apart as he retreated. He had gone a dozen steps when someone tripped him. He fell backward, landing on his shoulders, his right elbow striking hard on the board floor and knocking the pistol out of his hand. He saw the men surge forward, and he made a desperate effort to get to his feet. But he did not succeed. He was on his knees when several men, throwing themselves at him, landed on top of him. Their combined weight crushed him to the floor, but he squirmed out of the mass and got to his feet, striking at the faces he saw around him, worrying the men hither and yon, dragging them with him as he reeled under savage blows that were rained on him.