Charlevoix county herald., 1920-06-11

wood of the locked door, but the three
men were oblivious to all but their
own struggle. Like so many wild
beasts they clutched and struck, unable
to disentangle themselves. Enright,
his face like chalk, got to his knees
and crept across the floor until his
hand closed on Westcott's revolver
Lifting himself by grip on the desk,
he swung the weapon forward at the
very instant the miner rose staggering,
dragging Beaton with him. There
was flash of flame, sharp report,
and Westcott sprang aside, gripping
the back of a chair. The gunman sank
into shapelessness on the floor as the
chair hurtled through the air straight
at Enrights head.
With crash the door fell, and
black mass of men surged in through
the opening, the bartender leading
them, an axe in his hand. BeatOn
lay motionless just as he had dropped;
Enright was in one corner, dazed, I'M
nerved, red cash across his fore
head, from which blood dripped, the
revolver struck from his fingers, yet
smoking on the floor; Westcott, his
clothes torn, his face bruised by
blows, breathing heavily, went slowly
backward, step by step, to the farther
wall, conscious of nothing now but the
savagely hostile faces of these new
enemies. Lacy, staggering as though
drunk, managed to attain his feet,
hate, desire for revenge, yielding him
strength. This was his crowd, and his
mind was quick to grasp the oppor-
tunity.
"There's the man who did It." he
shouted his arm flung out toward
Westcott. 81 saw him shoot. See,
that's his gun lying on the floor. Don't
let the murderer get awayw
He started forward, an oath on his
lips, and the excited crowd surged af.
ter, growing anger. Then the mass
of them seemed suddenly rent asunder,
and the marshal plowed his way
through heedlessly, his hat gone, and
a blue-barreled gun In either hand. He
swept the muzzle of one of these into
the bartender's face menacingly, his
eyes searching the maddened crowd.
wait a minute, you," he command
ed sharply. IL reckon I've got some
axe, Mike, or ye'll never draw another
glass o. beer in this camp. You know
me, lads, an / never draw except fer
business. Shut your mouth, Lacy;
don't touch that gun, you fool 1 am
In charge here-this Is my job; and IL
there is going to be any lynching done,
Ii will be after you get me. Stand
back, now; all Of you-yes, get out
into that barroom. / mean you, Mikei
This man is my prisoner, and I'll de-
fend him. Ayi I'll do more, I'll let
him defend himself. Here, Westcott,
pick up your gun on the floor. Now,
stand here with mel We're going out
through that bunch, and IL one of
those coyotes puts a paw on you, let
him have It'll"
The crowd made way, reluctantly
enough, growing curses, but with no
man among them sufficiently reckless
to attempt resistance. They lacked
leadership, for the little marshal new
er once took his eye Off Lacy.
At the door he turned, walking back.
ward, trusting In Westcott to keep
their path clear, both leveled revolvers
ready for any movement.
He had but one object before him
to get his prisoner safely outside into
the open. Beyond that he would trust
to luck, and a fair chance. His grey
eyes were almost black as they gleam-
ed over the leveled revolver barrels.
and his clipped mustache fairly bris-