to defend himself would ever be allowed. The arrest was merely part of the
plot intended to leave him helpless in the hands of the mob. In this Hicks
was in no way blamable--he had merely performed his sworn duty, and would
still die, if need be, in defence of his prisoner. He was no tool, but
only an instrument they had found means of using.

Keith was essentially a man of action, a fighter by instinct, and so long
accustomed to danger that the excitement of it merely put new fire into
his veins. Now that he understood exactly what threatened, all numbing
feeling of hesitancy and doubt vanished, and he became instantly alive. He
would not lie there in that hole waiting for the formation of a mob; nor
would he trust in the ability of the marshal to defend him.

He had some friends without--not many, for he was but an occasional
visitor at Carson--who would rally to Hicks's assistance, but there would
not be enough on the side of law and order to overcome the "Red Light"
outfit, if once they scented blood. If he was to be saved from their
clutches, he must save himself; if his innocence was ever established it
would be by his own exertions--and he could accomplish this only out
yonder, free under the arch of sky.

He lifted his head, every nerve tingling with desperate determination. The
low growl of voices was audible through the partition, but there was no
other sound. Carson City was still resting, and there would be no crowd
nor excitement until much later. Not until nightfall would any attack be
attempted; he had six or eight hours yet in which to perfect his plans. He
ran his eyes about the room searching for some spot of weakness. It was
dark back of the bench, and he turned in that direction. Leaning over, he
looked down on the figure of a man curled up, sound asleep on the floor.
The fellow's limbs twitched as if in a dream, otherwise he might have