The Brookings register. [volume] (Brookings, Brookings County, S.D.) 1903-1971, 1920-10-07

TO dlSentanSle tnellSelNeS. LhiiSh-
his face like chalk, got to his knees
and crept across the floor until ms
hand closed on WestcOtt's revolver.
Lifting himself by a grip on the desk,
ne swung the weapon forward at the
very instant the miner rose staggering
dragging Beaton with him. There
was a flash of flame, q sharp report,
and Westcott sprang aside, gripping
he back of a chair. The gunman sank
INTO shapelessness on the fi0or as the
chair hurtled through the air straight
ut Enright's head.
With a crash the door fell, and q
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 n corner, dazeu, uil-
nerved, a red CASH across his fOre-
head, from which blood dripped, the
revolver, struck from his fingers, yet
smoking on the floor; Westcott, MS
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
~sayagely hostile faces Of these new
enemies. Lacy, staggering as o
drunk, managed TO attain his feet,
hate, desire for revenge, yielding him
strength. This was his crowd, n 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 away"
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 h~eedlessly, his hat gone, and
Il blue-barreled gun in either hand. He
swept the muzzle Of one Of these into
the ~bartender's face ~menacingly, his
Y e searching the maddened crowd.
"Wai a minute, you" he command
ed sharply. II reckon I've got some
thing to say bout this. Put down that
axe, Mike, or ye'H 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! | am
IN charge here-this is my job; and If
there is going TO be any lynching done,
it will be after you get me. Stand
back, now; all of you-yes, get out
into that barroOm. | mean you. Mike!
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 If n Of
those coyotes puts a paw on you, let
him have it,"
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 nev-
er nee 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
orac yrara o1nnnct h1aply nc thar p1aa~-
ed over the leveled revolver barrels,
and his clipped mustache fairly bris-
tied.
They were far from free even out
side the swinging doors and In the
sunshine. Already a rumor of what
had occurred had spread like wildfre,
and men were on the street, eager
enough to take some hand in the af-
fray. A few were already about the
steps, while others were running rapid
ly toward them, excited, but uncertain.
1t was this uncertainty which gave
the little marshal his one slender
chance. His eyes swept the crowd,
but there vas no face visible on whom
ITO Souiu iciy III ILLS
There was scarcely an instant of hest
fancy, his quick. searching eyes survey
ing the scene, and then seeking the
face Of his prisoner.
"Willing to fight this out, Jim?" he
asked shortly.
"You bet, Dan; what's the planY'
"Tne big rock In Bear creek. We
can hold out there until dark. Per-
haps therell be some men to help us by
that time If not, we might crawl away
In the night. Take the alley and turn
at the hotel. Don't let anybody stop
you. Christopher Columbus, l hate to
run from such cattle, but it's our only
chance"
There was no time to waste. They
were not yet at the mouth of the al
ley when the Infatuated pursuers burst
through the saloon doors, cursing and
shouting.
There were a dozen shots, but the
two runners plunged about the corner
of the building and disappeared, ap-
parently untouched. Twice they turn
ed and fired, yet at that, hardly paused
in their race. Westcott held back, re-
tarded by the shorter legs of his com-