ducked swiftly, and the billet thudded against his shoulder, staggering
him. Instantly two of the scowmen threw themselves upon the woman and
bore her to the ground, where she fought, tooth and nail, while they
pinioned her arms. Vermilion, his face livid, seized Chloe roughly.
The girl shrank in terror from the grip of the thick, grimy fingers and
the glare of the envenomed eyes that blazed from the distorted, brutish
features.

"Stand back!"

The command came sharp and quick in a low, hard voice--the voice of
authority. Vermilion whirled with a snarl. Uttering a loud cry of
fear, one of the scowmen dashed into the bush, closely followed by two
of his companions. Two men advanced swiftly and noiselessly from the
cover of the scrub. Like a flash, the half-breed jerked a revolver
from his belt and fired. Chenoine fell dead. Before Vermilion could
fire again the other man, with the slightest perceptible movement of
his right hand, fired from the hip. The revolver dropped from the
half-breed's hand. He swayed unsteadily for a few seconds, his eyes
widening into a foolish, surprised stare. He half-turned and opened
his lips to speak. Pink foam reddened the corners of his mouth and
spattered in tiny drops upon his chin. He gasped for breath with a
spasmodic heave of the shoulders. A wheezing, gurgling sound issued
from his throat, and a torrent of blood burst from his lips and
splashed upon the ground. With eyes wildly rolling, he clutched
frantically at the breast of his cotton shirt and pitched heavily into
the smouldering ashes of the fire at the feet of the stranger.

But few seconds had elapsed since Chloe felt the hand of Vermilion
close about her wrist--tense, frenzied seconds, to the mind of the