He turned, crossed the room, and went out. There was the sound of men getting to horse. A little later all but the four figures at the doors withdrew; and, a moment later still, four others on horseback appeared at the windows, and the ones at the doors also backed out. After a short delay, during which the noise of pawing hoofs and the jingle of trappings entered the silent room, the black figures at the windows suddenly vanished. A dead instant followed, every one in the saloon standing with hands still up-raised. Then, with an oath, a burly miner, who towered above his fellows, rushed to the door, jerking out his two revolvers as he ran. Fifty yards along the road, a large body of black figures was just getting under way. He fired into the very center of the group. A little muffled cry came back on the wind, and a figure, strangely smaller and slighter than the others, reeled for a second in the saddle. Instantly, the tall rider who had addressed the crowd, wheeled his horse, glanced at the smaller figure, saw that it was again sitting its horse easily, and galloped back toward the door. Spurring straight into the stream of bullets that poured from the two revolvers before him, he swiftly closed up the interval. His arm darted from under his cape, and a flash of light stabbed the darkness. The huge man in the doorway clutched once at the jamb for support, then toppled backward. A clean hole in his forehead told that he would never cause trouble again. Others in the saloon had also hurried toward the windows. But the sight of this sudden retribution stopped them in their tracks. The avenger waited a moment, facing them unmovingly, then rode back to his comrades. After a deliberate delay, the black band, unmolested, trotted quietly away. Back in the saloon, the pause held but a moment, broke, and left the crowd in uproar. One or two ran out into the road and sent a belated, scattered, and harmless volley after the riders. Others examined the fallen miner; but it was evident that he was past assistance, and scant attention was given him. It was the way of the youthful West to pay ready homage to any one who could amuse, interest, or terrorize it; but, once a leader went down, it turned readily and quickly to any one else who could take his place. There were not a few who openly murmured that Simpson had got what he deserved. The majority ignored him completely and surged around the posters. As the leader of the visitors had said, one was simply an announcement of an election, giving the time, place, and details, and suggesting the names of various men as likely candidates. The other was a column of seventeen names. Beneath was a curt order giving their bearers forty-eight hours to leave town. The name of “Wasp” Williams headed the list. CHAPTER VII. WHAT CAME IN THE STAGE.