"Stranger--I guess I want this floor!"
The place, an inner room partitioned off from Murphy's saloon; the time,
late evening; the speaker a tall, half-drunken ruffian in frowsy miner's
dress; the spoken to, Vipan--who, lounging against a table was chatting
with the saloon-keeper; the tone, insolent and threatening to the last
degree; the attitude, that of a man sure of his advantage.
"Stranger--I guess I want this floor!"
"And I guess you've got it," came the quick reply, but not more quickly
than the change of attitude which it described. For, in a twinkling, a
straight "right and left" from the shoulder had sent the aggressor to
earth like a felled ox, while his pistol-bullet buried itself in the
wall half a yard above Vipan's head.
Then ensued a stupendous hubbub. Pistols cracked, as the stricken man's
mates in the outer room hurled themselves at the partition door intent
on taking up their comrade's quarrel. But the door, a solid slab one,
met them in full career, pinning the foremost of their number half in,
half out.
"Now, Dan Harper, back's the word!" said the quiet, but stern voice of
Smokestack Bill, to whose promptitude was due this first check to the
enemy.
"You move a little inch forward and you're a stiff, you bet."
"Leggo the darn door, then--F-fixed t-tight," gasped the pinned one,
who, with the muzzle of the scout's six-shooter within an inch of his
nose, would willingly have obeyed, but could not. Smokestack Bill,
however, relaxing his pressure, the crushed one was able to draw back,
considerably bruised, into the outer room, and the door was jammed to,
but not before a couple of bullets fired into the room had narrowly
grazed Vipan's shoulder.
"Now then, boys," called out the scout. "Anyone feel like trying an
entrance? Better not, believe me."
All this had befallen within infinitely fewer minutes than it takes to
chronicle. The felled bully lay prone where he had first dropped,
stunned, insensible, and motionless--and disarmed, for the first act of
his adversary was to put it out of his power to get the advantage of
them. The room, half filled with stifling smoke from the pistol-shots;
the barricaded door, against which the besieged ones had run up a couple
of casks; the two determined men, fully prepared to defend themselves at
the expense of any number of their adversaries' lives; the fierce,
threatening summons to yield entrance from the infuriated gang without;
all went to make up a strange and startling metamorphosis on the
hitherto quiet evening, which the two men had reckoned upon when they
retired into the private room of the saloon-keeper to be clear of any
disturbance.
"Air you agoin' to open?" sung out a harsh voice, at the close of a
muttered consultation. "We know you, Smokestack Bill, and we've nothin'
again you. But that pizen skunk, the white Injun, we're bound to have
him if we burn down the old log to do it. So you come out of it, Bill,
right along, while you can."
"You be advised, Dan Harper," cried the scout in reply. "You're a dead
man this very night if you don't git--mind me."
"So are a dozen of you, by God!" sung out Vipan. He knew the whole
business was a deliberate plan to take his life. The ruffian whom he
had felled was to pick a quarrel and shoot him on sight, while his
scoundrelly mates stood ready to make sure of him if the first part of
the scheme miscarried. A roar went up from the crowd. "Let's get at
him! What'll we do with him, boys?"
"Tar and feather him!"
"Burn him at the stake!" "Scalp him!" "String him up!" were some of
the yells that burst from the maddened throng as it surged round the
building, narrowly scanning every door and window for a chance of
forcing an entrance. But the defenders of the inner room knew better
than to be caught that way.
"One minute before you begin any tricks," cried the scout, and his voice
had the dangerous ring about it of that of an ordinarily cool and quiet
man roused at last. "One minute, and just listen to me. We've molested
nobody, and don't want to molest nobody. Bitter Rube in here picked a
quarrel with my pardner and got knocked down. If he'd done it with any
of you boys he'd have been shot dead. He'll be shot before anyone gets
in here--"
"Darn Bitter Rube! Serve the bunglin' fool right! What do we care
about Bitter Rube? It's the pizen white Injun we're going to lynch--and
lynch him we will--by God!"
"Try it!" rejoined the scout. "There'll be a few of you dead in your
boots before mornin', I reckon. And anyone who thinks Smokestack Bill
the boy to go back on a pardner is makin' an almighty big error in the
undertaking. So now, stand clear for squalls."
A roar and a yell was the only reply. A deafening crash, as some of the
rioters in the outer saloon vented their rage in smashing all the glass
they could lay hands on; then a shock, as the end of a beam, wielded as
a battering ram, came full against the door. A couple of flashes and
reports, mingling like a single one. The beam fell to the earth at the
same time as three of its bearers, whom the fire of the besieged,
discharged through a chink at such close quarters, had literally raked
in line. The remainder promptly got out of the way.
"Put in the faggot. Don't give any of the skunks a further show,"
yelled the frantic mob, exasperated by this reverse. And a rush was
made for the further end of the building.