They listened, then descended to the big open engine-room doors and listened again. From the direction of Market Street came the dull sounds of turmoil, shouting, the growl and roar of many people excited by something. Across the Plaza a man appeared, running. As he came nearer, both could see that his face had a very grim expression. "Here!" called Johnny, as the man neared them. "Stop a minute! Tell us what's the matter!" The man ceased running, but did not stop. He was panting but evidently very angry. His words came from between gritted teeth. "Fight," he said briefly. "Casey and James King of William. King's shot." At the words something seemed to be stilled in Keith's mind. Johnny seized the man by the sleeve. "Hold on," he begged. "I know that kind of a fight. Tell us." "Casey went up close to King, said 'come on,' and instantly shot him before King knew what he was saying." "Killed?" "Fatally wounded." "Where's Casey?" "In jail--of course--where he's safe--with his friends." "Where you headed for?" "I'm going to get my gun!" said the man grimly, and began again to run. They watched his receding figure until it swung around the corner and disappeared. Without warning a white-hot wave of anger swept over Keith. All the little baffling, annoying delays, enmities, technicalities, chicaneries, personal antagonisms, evasions that had made up the Cora trial were in it. He seemed to see clearly the inevitable outcome of this trial also. It would be another Cora-Richardson case over again. A brave spirit had been brutally blotted out by an outlaw who relied confidently on the usual exoneration. With an exclamation Keith darted into the engine house to where hung the rope ready for an alarm. An instant later the heavy booming of the Monumental's bell smote the air. LIII