"How about the time yuh had 'em in your rotten old jail, and let
'em get out and run loose around the country, killing off white
men?" drawled another-a Circle-Bar man.

"Now boys."

A hand--the hand of him who had stood guard over the Wagners in
the bedroom during supper--reached out through the doorway and
caught his rifle arm. Taken unawares from behind, he whirled
and then went down under the weight of men used to "wrassling"
calves. Even old Lauman was no match for them, and presently he
found himself stretched upon the porch with three Lazy Eight
boys sitting on his person; which, being inclined to portliness,
he found very uncomfortable.

Moved by an impulse he had no name for, Thurston snatched the
sheriff's revolver from its scabbard. As the heap squirmed
pantingly upon the porch he stepped into the doorway to avoid
being tripped, which was the wisest move he could have made, for
it put him in the shadow--and there were men of the Circle Bar
whose trigger-finger would not have hesitated, just then, had he
been in plain sight and had they known his purpose.

"Just hold on there, boys," he called, and they could see the
glimmer of the gun-barrel. Those of the Lazy Eight laughed at
him.

"Aw, put it down, Bud," Park admonished. "That's too dangerous
a toy for you to be playing with--and yuh know damn well yuh
can't hit anything."