The masked man rose and turned to face the other squarely, taking his eyes away from the window to do so. "I hoped," he said, "that we might work together, but you won't have it that way. If you're sure this paper is just the way you want it--" The Lone Ranger broke off when a shot crashed into the room from a gun beyond the window. Bryant Cavendish gasped, then staggered back, clutching with both hands at his broad chest. He stumbled and fell across the bed. The Lone Ranger's gun leaped up while the masked man sprang to the window. He saw a man's form running fast. It was too dark in the shadows to determine much about the fugitive, but it was obvious that it was he who had fired the shot at Bryant. The Lone Ranger's gun barked, and a silver bullet flew. The running man spilled forward, rolling from his own momentum. There was hammering upon the door. Men's shouts demanded to know what the shooting was about. The Lone Ranger holstered his gun. Ignoring the yells and shouts outside the room, he bent over the wounded man. Bryant still breathed, but his pulse was ragged and his eyes were closed. Another instant and those outside would smash the door and force their way inside. To be found there masked, with Cavendish shot, and one bullet gone from his own gun, would mean the certain capture and probable lynching of the Lone Ranger. He had no choice. He lifted Bryant Cavendish and carried him toward the window. The dead weight of the unconscious man was too much for the Lone Ranger, in his fatigued and weakened condition, to handle quickly. He rested his burden on the window's sill then whistled sharply once. The whistle brought renewed shouting from the men beyond the door. Their cries were wild and unorganized. Some cried to the world at large, "Bust in--bust down the door--don't let 'em out--he's in thar, I heard him." These and other cries were mixed with shouts of warning and advice: "Don't yuh try tuh git away--we got yuh trapped--come out an' surrender or we shoot tuh kill." If only the door and the bolt would withstand the assault of the first few blows! Silver was coming fast, racing toward the window where the masked man waited. The big stallion clattered close and whinnied shrilly while the men in the hall yelled new suggestions. "He's got a hoss outside. Git around tuh the winder. I hear a hoss. Thar's a hull gang o' them in thar." In a moment Bryant was thrown across the saddle. The masked man leaped behind him as a shattering blow shivered the door and the wall that supported it. "Come on, Silver!" the Lone Ranger called. He couldn't leave the vicinity just yet. There was one thing of which he must make certain. He rode to the man he'd shot. Leaping from the saddle, he found the wounded man quite conscious, but in pain from a bullet in the fleshy part of his thigh. "Not serious," he muttered. "You'll be all right as soon as--"