the evening before.  After saddling, we rode around the square, and at the invitation of Deweese dismounted before a public house for a drink and a cigar before starting.  We were aware that the town was against us, and to maintain a bold front was a matter of necessity.  Unbuckling our belts in compliance with the sheriff’s orders, we hung our six-shooters on the pommels of our saddles and entered the bar-room.  Other customers were being waited on, and several minutes passed before we were served.  The place was rather crowded, and as we were being waited on, a rabble of roughs surged through a rear door, led by Jack Oxenford.  He walked up to within two feet of me where I stood at the counter, and apparently addressing the barkeeper, as we were charging our glasses, said in a defiant tone:—­

“I’ll bet a thousand dollars Judge Thornton refuses to grant a separation between my wife and me.”

The words flashed through me like an electric shock, and understanding the motive, I turned on the speaker and with the palm of my hand dealt him a slap in the face that sent him staggering back into the arms of his friends.  Never before or since have I felt the desire to take human life which possessed me at that instant.  With no means of defense in my possession but a penknife, I backed away from him, he doing the like, and both keeping close to the bar, which was about twenty feet long.  In one hand I gripped the open-bladed pocket knife, and, with the other behind my back, retreated to my end of the counter as did Oxenford to his, never taking our eyes off each other.  On reaching his end of the bar, I noticed the barkeeper going through motions that looked like passing him a gun, and in the same instant some friend behind me laid the butt of a pistol in my hand behind my back.  Dropping the knife, I shifted the six-shooter to my right hand, and, advancing on the object of my hate, fired in such rapid succession that I was unable to tell even whether my fire was being returned.  When my gun was empty, the intervening clouds of smoke prevented any view of my adversary; but my lust for his life was only intensified when, on turning to my friends, I saw Deweese supporting Hunter in his arms.  Knowing that one or the other had given me the pistol, I begged them for another to finish my work.  But at that moment the smoke arose sufficiently to reveal my enemy crippling down at the farther end of the bar, a smoking pistol in his hand.  As Oxenford sank to the floor, several of his friends ran to his side, and Deweese, noticing the movement, rallied the wounded man in his arms.  Shaking him until his eyes opened, June, exultingly as a savage, cried, “Tony, for God’s sake stand up just a moment longer.  Yonder he lies.  Let me carry you over so you can watch the cur die.”  Turning to me he continued:  “Tom, you’ve got your man.  Run for your life; don’t let them get you.”