Riley Sinclair whirled with whiplash suddenness and, chopping the edge of his hand downward, struck away the arm of Larsen, paralyzing the nerves with the same blow.

“Hands off!” said Sinclair.

The girl’s clear voice rang again in his ear:  “Thank you, Oscar Larsen.  I sure know my friends—­and the gentlemen!”

She was pouring oil on the fire.  She would have a feud blazing in a moment.  With all his heart Riley Sinclair admired her dexterity.  He drew the posse back to the work in hand by stepping into the doorway and calling:  “Hey, Gaspar!”

7

“He’s right, Larsen, and you’re wrong,” Buck Mason said.

“She had us buffaloed, and he pulled us clear.  Steady, boys.  They ain’t no harm done to Sally!”

“Oh, Buck, is that the sort of a friend of mine you are?”

“I’m sorry, Sally.”

Sinclair gave this argument only a small part of his attention.  He found himself looking over a large room which was, he thought, one of the most comfortable he had ever seen—­outside of pictures.  At the farther end a great fireplace filled the width of the room.  The inside of the log walls had been carefully and smoothly finished by some master axman.  There were plenty of chairs, homemade and very comfortable with cushions.  A little organ stood against the wall to one side.  No wonder the schoolteacher had chosen this for his boarding place!

Riley made his voice larger.  “Gaspar!”

Then a door opened slowly, while Sinclair dropped his hand on the butt of his gun and waited.  The door moved again.  A head appeared and observed him.

“Pronto!” declared Riley Sinclair, and a little man slipped into full view.

He was a full span shorter, Riley felt, than a man had any right to be.  Moreover, he was too delicately made.  He had a head of bright blond hair, thick and rather on end.  The face was thin and handsome, and the eyes impressed Riley as being at once both bright and weary.  He was wearing a dressing gown, the first Riley had ever seen.

“Get your hands out of those pockets!” He emphasized the command with a jerk of his gun hand, and the arms of the schoolteacher flew up over his head.  Lean, fragile hands, Riley saw them to be.  Altogether it was the most disgustingly inefficient piece of manhood that he had ever seen.

“Slide out here, Gaspar.  They’s some gents here that wants to look you over.”

The voice that answered him was pitched so low as to be almost unintelligible.  “What do they want?”

“Step lively, friend!  They want to see a gent that lets a woman do his fighting for him.”

He had dropped his gun contemptuously back into its holster.  Now he waved the schoolteacher to the door with his bare hands.

Gaspar sidled past as if a loaded gun were about to explode in his direction.  He reached the door, his arms still held stiffly above his head, but, at the sight of the masked faces, one arm dropped to his side, and the other fell across his face.  He slumped against the side of the door with a moan.