Evidently Slade had been about to release Ruth when he heard the door crashing behind him; for at the instant Shorty emerged from the wreck he saw that the girl’s body was already falling—­toward the bed—­as Slade drew away from her and reached for his guns.

They came out—­both of them—­streaking fire and smoke.  But they never came to the deadly level to which Slade sought to throw them; for Shorty’s guns were crashing at Slade’s first movement, and the bullets from the outlaw’s weapons thudded into the board floor, harmlessly, and Slade lurched forward—­almost to Shorty’s side—­his guns loosening in his hands and falling, one after the other, to the floor.  He grinned, with hideous satire, into Shorty’s face as he tried, vainly, to steady himself.

“Warden—­the damned skunk—­said Lawler would come—­first!” he said, with horrible pauses.  He lurched again, still grinning satirically; and slumped to the floor, where he turned slowly over on his back and lay still.

Shorty glanced at Ruth, who was huddled on the bed; then he wheeled, and leaped for the stairs.

Before he reached the bottom, Ruth sat up and stared dazedly about.  She had heard the crashing of the pistols, though the reports had seemed to come from a great distance—­faintly, dully.  But when she reeled to her feet and saw Slade lying on the floor, his upturned face ghastly in the feeble light from the oil-lamp, she knew that someone had saved her, and she yielded, momentarily, to a great joy that weakened her so that she had to sit on the edge of the bed to steady herself.

It was not for long; and presently she got up and swayed to the door at the top of the stairs, holding onto the jamb while she looked downward.  When her eyes grew accustomed to the light she paled.

In the big room were many men.  She saw Shorty standing among them—­she recognized them as Circle L cowboys.  Shorty’s guns were out; in fact the men in the group near Shorty seemed to bristle with weapons.

At the rear of the room was another group of men.  They stood motionless, silent, and had no weapons in their hands.  But some of them were crouching, their faces grim and set.

And then Ruth heard Shorty’s voice—­hoarse, raucous with passion: 

“You guys that don’t belong to Slade’s gang, get out!  Fan it!  You Slade men stand!  I know every damned one of you!”

There was a short silence, during which several men slipped away from the group at the rear of the room and bolted for the rear door.  And then, suddenly, as Shorty muttered words that Ruth did not hear, both groups of men leaped into action.