The business had been transacted in ten seconds. If one man can cover a hundred yards in ten seconds how many yards can forty men make in the same time? "Curious!" said Charlie. "Some of that bunch might have stood up to a gun well enough. But they can't see bullets. And once they turned tail--good night!" He slipped along the rail to the other end of the table, his gun poised and ready. Caney sprawled on the floor in a huddle. His mouth was open, gasping, his eyes rolled back so that only the whites were visible, his livid face twitched horribly. See swooped down on Caney's gun and made swift inspection of the cylinder; he did the like by Weir's, and then tiptoed to the partition door, first thrusting his own gun into his waistband. The barroom was empty; only the diving Mermaid smiled invitation to him. See turned and raced for the back door. Even as he turned a gust of wind puffed through the open front door and the wrecked middle door; the lamps flared, the back door slammed with a crash. With the sound of that slamming door, a swift new thought came to See. He checked, halted, turned back. He took one look at the unconscious Caney. Then he swept a generous portion of free lunch into his hat and tossed it over the crowning woodwork of the ten-foot refrigerator, with the level motion of a mason tossing bricks to his mate. Caney's revolver followed, then Weir's and his own. He darted behind the bar and confiscated a half-filled bottle of wine, the appetizing name of which had won his approving notice earlier in the evening. He stepped on a chair beside the refrigerator, leaped up, caught the oaken edge of it, swung up with a supple twist of his strong young body, and dropped to the top of the refrigerator, safe hidden by the two-foot parapet of ornamental woodwork. A little later two men sprang together through the front door; a sloe-eyed Mexican and the dwarfish friend of the Australian giant. They leaped aside to left and right, guns ready; they looked into the gambling hall; they flanked the bar, one at each end, and searched behind it. Then the little man went to the door and called out scornfully: "Come in, you damn cowards! He's gone!" Shadowy forms grew out of the starlight, with whistlings, answered from afar; more shadows came. "Is Caney dead?" inquired a voice. "Hell, I don't know and I don't care!" answered the little man truculently. "I had no time to look at Caney, not knowing when that devil would hop me. See for yourself." The crowd struggled in--but not all of them. Weir came in groaning, his face distorted with pain as he fondled his crippled arm. The Merman examined Caney. "Dead, nothing," he reported. "Knocked out. He won't breathe easy again for a week. Bring some whisky and a pail of water. Isn't this fine? I don't think! Billiard table ruined--plate-glass mirror shot to pieces--half a dozen men crippled, and that damned little hell hound got off scot-free!"