“Where are they?” Quest demanded.

“In the worst saloon here,” the Sheriff replied.  “They’ve been there pretty well all night, drinking, and they’re there again this morning, hard at it.  They’ve both got firearms, and though I ain’t exactly a nervous man, Mr. Quest—­”

“You leave it to me,” Quest interrupted.  “This is my job and I want to take the men myself.”

“You’ll never do it,” the Sheriff declared.

“Look here,” Quest explained, “if I let you and your men go in, there will be a free fight, and as likely as not you will kill one, if not both of the men.  I want them alive.”

“Well, it’s your show,” the Sheriff admitted, stopping before a disreputable-looking building.  “This is the saloon.  They’ve turned the place upside down since they’ve been here.  You can hear the row they’re making now.  Free drinks to all the toughs in the town!  They’re pouring the stuff down all the time.”

“Well,” Quest decided, “I’m going in and I’m going in unarmed.  You can bring your men in later, if I call for help or if you hear any shooting.”

“You’re asking for trouble,” the Sheriff warned him.

“I’ve got to do this my own way,” Quest insisted.  “Stand by now.”

He pushed open the door of the saloon.  There were a dozen men drinking around the bar and in the centre of them Red Gallagher and his mate.  They seemed to be all shouting together, and the air was thick with tobacco smoke.  Quest walked right up to the two men.

“Gallagher,” he said, “you’re my prisoner.  Are you coming quietly?”

Gallagher’s mate, who was half drunk, swung round and fired a wild shot in Quest’s direction.  The result was a general stampede.  Red Gallagher alone remained motionless.  Grim and dangerously silent, he held a pistol within a few inches of Quest’s forehead.

“If my number’s up,” he exclaimed ferociously, “it won’t be you who’ll take me.”

“I think it will,” Quest answered.  “Put that gun away.”

Gallagher hesitated.  Quest’s influence over him was indomitable.

“Put it away,” Quest repeated firmly.  “You know you daren’t use it.  Your account’s pretty full up, as it is.”

Gallagher’s hand wavered.  From outside came the shouts of the Sheriff and his men, struggling to fight their way in through the little crowd who were rushing for safety.  Suddenly Quest backed, jerked the pistol up with his right elbow, and with almost the same movement struck Red Gallagher under the jaw.  The man went over with a crash.  His mate, who had been staggering about, cursing viciously, fired another wild shot at Quest, who swayed and fell forward.

“I’ve done him!” the man shouted.  “Get up, Red!  I’ve done him all right!  Finish yer drink.  We’ll get out of this!”

He bent unsteadily over Quest.  Suddenly the latter sprang up, seized him by the leg and sent him sprawling.  The gun fell from his hand.  Quest picked it up and held it firmly out, covering both men.  Gallagher was on his knees, groping for his own weapon.