"As he's run, I may as well walk;" and he stepped towards the bar-room.

Instantly Crocker threw himself in front of him with his face on fire.

"Walk--will ye?" he burst out, the long-repressed rage flaming up--
"walk! when you've jumped the best man in Garotte--walk! No, by God,
you'll crawl, d'ye hear? crawl--right out of this camp, right now!" and
he dropped his revolver on Hitchcock's breast.

Then came a wild chorus of shouts.

"That's right! That's the talk! Crawl, will ye! Down on yer hands and
knees. Crawl, damn ye! Crawl!" and a score of revolvers covered the
stranger.

For a moment he stood defiant, looking his assailants in the eyes. His
face seemed to have grown thinner, and his moustache twitched with the
snarling movement of a brute at bay. Then he was tripped up and thrown
forwards amid a storm of, "Crawl, damn ye--crawl!" And so Hitchcock
crawled, on hands and knees, out of Doolan's.

Lawyer Rablay, too, was never afterwards seen in Garotte. Men said his
nerves had "give out."

JULY, 1892.

* * * * *

GULMORE, THE BOSS