“Martin, you know what it’s for,” replied Steele.  “Take your dealer and dig—­unless you want to see me clean out your place.”

Sullen and fierce, Martin stood looking from Steele to the cattleman and then the dealer.  Some men in the crowd muttered, and that was a signal for Steele to shove the circle apart and get out, back to the wall.

The cattleman rose slowly in the center, pulling another gun, and he certainly looked business to me.

“Wal, Ranger, I reckon I’ll hang round an’ see you ain’t bothered none,” he said.  “Friend,” he went on, indicating me with a slight wave of one extended gun, “jest rustle the money in sight.  We’ll square up after the show.”

I reached out and swept the considerable sum toward me, and, pocketing it, I too rose, ready for what might come.

“You-all give me elbow room!” yelled Steele at Martin and his cowed contingent.

Steele looked around, evidently for some kind of implement, and, espying a heavy ax in a corner, he grasped it, and, sweeping it to and fro as if it had been a buggy-whip, he advanced on the faro layout.  The crowd fell back, edging toward the door.

One crashing blow wrecked the dealer’s box and table, sending them splintering among the tumbled chairs.  Then the giant Ranger began to spread further ruin about him.

Martin’s place was rough and bare, of the most primitive order, and like a thousand other dens of its kind, consisted of a large room with adobe walls, a rude bar of boards, piles of kegs in a corner, a stove, and a few tables with chairs.

Steele required only one blow for each article he struck, and he demolished it.  He stove in the head of each keg.

When the dark liquor gurgled out, Martin cursed, and the crowd followed suit.  That was a loss!

The little cattleman, holding the men covered, backed them out of the room, Martin needing a plain, stern word to put him out entirely.  I went out, too, for I did not want to miss any moves on the part of that gang.

Close behind me came the cattleman, the kind of cool, nervy Texan I liked.  He had Martin well judged, too, for there was no evidence of any bold resistance.

But there were shouts and loud acclamations; and these, with the crashing blows of Steele’s ax, brought a curious and growing addition to the crowd.

Soon sodden thuds from inside the saloon and red dust pouring out the door told that Steele was attacking the walls of Martin’s place.  Those adobe bricks when old and crumbly were easily demolished.

Steele made short work of the back wall, and then he smashed out half of the front of the building.  That seemed to satisfy him.

When he stepped out of the dust he was wet with sweat, dirty, and disheveled, hot with his exertion—­a man whose great stature and muscular development expressed a wonderful physical strength and energy.  And his somber face, with the big gray eyes, like open furnaces, expressed a passion equal to his strength.