Mike's Place was lighted into the semblance of day by two huge acetylene lamps in the center of the ceiling.  
As the foremost of the crowd entered the storeroom there came to the others a howl of baffled rage. The entire rear of the long room was a surging mass of men, all fighting to be first. The front of the place was quite deserted, except for the figure of Mike, who stood behind the bar, hand still on his shotgun.
 
About the rear doorway centered a wild struggle. Nobody knew just what was taking place until Chuck Hansom leaped to a chair and dominated the mob.
 
"He's gone!" roared the cowboy with the gay beaded vest. "Gone! Somebody's cut him loose. Got out the windy——"
 
"C'rect the first shot, Chuck," drawled a quiet voice from the front.
 
Every man there turned, to behold Steve Arnold in the doorway, a gun in each hand. To one side of the swinging doors, thumbs in his vest, was negligently posed Sam Fisher.
 
"I've come for you, Mike," he said in the moment of dead silence. "Chuck, you and your friends will be attended to by Mr. Arnold, here, so be careful. Mike, go for your gun——"
 
Mike had already gone for it, merely switching around the shotgun atop the bar. It burst into a shattering, deafening roar that drowned the words of Sam Fisher. Under the roar came the whiplike crack of a revolver.
 
There was a crash and crackle of falling glass; the double load of buckshot took out the front window with admirable unanimity. Silence fell, dread and ominous. Galway Mike had fallen over his bar, and lay there motionless. Sam Fisher jerked his gun into its holster again, his face hard and flinty, his eyes burning.
 
"Sorry about this, boys," he said, "but it's time that Mr. Buck and his friends were put out of business."
 
"Who killed Cervantes?" yelled somebody. Sam Fisher held up his hand.
 
"I'll tell you," he said, and there was silence. "Three men hid in the brush and shot Cervantes, ambushed him, murdered him without a chance. Two of those men did the shooting. The third man was Chuck Hansom, yonder. One of the actual murderers is dead. The other was Templeton Buck—and I'm going to send him to the pen for it."
 
"You lie!" cried the shrill voice of Chuck Hansom. "You lie! You done it yourself——"
 
"You devil, I seen the whole thing!" shouted Steve Arnold, breaking loose. "I seen it all——"
 
Chuck Hansom flung up his gun. Arnold shot him before the hammer fell.
 
Two shots echoed—Fisher fired twice at the ceiling, blew out the lights, and was gone through the doorway, dragging the raging Arnold with him. Behind them the crowd began to mill in wild confusion, not realizing what had happened, engulfed in darkness, fearing more shots from the doorway.
 
"Confound you!" exclaimed Sam Fisher as he dragged his companion along. "What'd you drop him for? We'd have had a confession out of him later."
 
"I seen red," panted Steve. "I jest couldn't help it, thinkin' of the way they'd downed Miguel. He was one o' the three."
 
"Duck in back o' the hotel, Steve; hurry up! We got to make those horses; there's going to be a string of hornets on our trail in a hurry."
 
Five minutes later the two had ridden out of town. Behind them the lights and confusion died down, but both knew that parties of riders would be on their trail ere long. For a space they pushed their horses in silence, then Fisher reined in.
 
"Long trail ahead, Steve; no use overdoin' it," he said. "I got to thank you for snaking me out of that storeroom. How'd you find out?"
 
"Heard 'em talk in the front." Arnold drew in at his stirrup. "Listen! Why in thunder didn't you tell me you was Sam Fisher?"
 
"I was aiming to keep it dark a while, Steve," returned the other apologetically, "only things got to moving too lively and I had to make the play. Did you see Stella?"
 
"Yep! And say! I ain't had a chance to tell you yet; things have busted loose aplenty! Buck must ha' got Jake Harper."
 
"What!" The word broke from Fisher like an explosion. "What? How come?"
 
"I ain't certain." Steve became calmer as he spoke. "Right after I got back to the Lazy S, Buck and this feller Chuck rode home, savvy? I aimed to come right to town, only Stella was badly broken up about Miguel, so I had to stick around a while. Finally I had a chance to tell her the rights of the whole business, so she up and tells me that you was Sam Fisher himself. It took us quite a spell gettin' straightened out. Then the poor ol' se?ora took to throwin' fits and I had to give Stella a hand with her, which ate up considerable time.
 
"Well, I was gettin' saddled up, when in rode one of our veterans from the Circle Bar, seekin' Jake. Seems like Jake had started for the Shumway place early this mornin' alone. Must ha' clear dropped out o' sight. Stella told me to ride in and git you, which I done. That's all we know."
 
Sam Fisher studied over this information for a time, gravely perturbed.
 
"Steve, we're in for it, up to our necks!" he said at last. "Buck is makin' a great play for the Shumway place and Stella; at least, he started that way.
 
"He knows nothing of what's happened in town. He thinks that I'm in jail, safe to be put away for the murder of Cervantes. Cervantes is dead and out of his way. The only other obstacle in his path was Jake Harper, and he must have arranged to handle the old man. If he has, by Heaven, I'll get him! No—I won't get him. I'll still send him over the road."
 
"A bullet would simplify things a heap," and Arnold sighed.
 
"No, Steve." Fisher's voice was grave, heavy, stern. "Buck is the prime mover behind all the deviltry up here. It was Buck who sent Frank Shumway to the pen—and that fellow Murphy, or Pincher Brady, framed the deal from the capital. I found a letter in Murphy's pocket from Buck referring to it—clear enough evidence to free Shumway."
 
"Glory be!" ejaculated Arnold with a sudden yell of delight. "Is that the truth?"
 
"It's the truth. That letter is locked in the sheriff's desk—and nobody knows about it. Now, Murphy is safe out of the way, and we'll get Frank loose from the pen in no time. But Buck—give him a quick, hot bullet? Not much! That devil is going behind the bars for life, if I can send him!"
 
"I'm right sorry about Chuck Hansom, Red," Steve said slowly.
 
"Don't worry. I don't believe Chuck would have squealed, anyhow. Now, I have to be at the Shumway place to-morrow to handle that coroner's jury; so do you with your evidence. If we're going to clean up this county, we have to do one thing at a time. This affair to-night has mussed up everything pretty badly. If that gang from town is allowed to come after us, it means a lot of shooting and killing—which I want to avoid if possible. Chuck and Mike deserved what they got, but we can't shoot up a lot of hysterical fools who think they're chasing a murderer. With Buck and his gang it's different. Where Buck made his mistake was in murdering Cervantes; that murder is going to cost a lot of blood."
 
"What abo............