weapon. Van was upon him like a panther. The gun went up and was
fired in the air, and then was hurled down under foot.

Two things happened then together. The sheriff arrived to arrest the
drunken miner, and a woman pushed her way through the press.

"Van!" she cried. "Van--oh, Van!"

He was busy assisting his partners to escort poor Algy away. He noted
the woman as she parted the crowd. He was barely in time to fend her
off from flinging herself in his arms.

"Oh, Van!" she repeated wildly. "I thought you was goin' to git it
sure!"

"Don't bother me, Queenie," he answered, annoyed, and adding to
Gettysburg, "Take him to Charlie's," he turned at once to his broncho,
mounted actively, and began to round up the scattered animals brought
into camp by his partners.

He had barely ridden clear of the crowd when his glance was caught by a
figure off to the left.

It was Beth. She was standing on a packing case, where the surging
disorder had sent her. She had seen it all, the fight, his arrival,
and the woman who would have clasped him in her arms.

Her face was flushed. She avoided his gaze and turned to descend to
the walk. Then Bostwick, in his convict suit, stepped actively forward
to meet her.