They were far from free even outside the swinging doors and in the sunshine.  Already a rumour of what had occurred had spread like wildfire, and men were on the street, eager enough to take some hand in the affray.  A few were already about the steps, while others were running rapidly toward them, excited but uncertain.

It was this uncertainty which gave the little marshal his one slender chance.  His eyes swept the crowd, but there was no face visible on whom he could rely in this emergency.  They were the roughs of the camp, the idlers, largely parasites of Lacy; those fellows would only hoot him if he asked for help.  No, there was no way but to fight it out themselves, and the only possibility of escape came to him in a flash.  Suddenly as this emergency had arisen the marshal was prepared; he knew the lawless nature of the camp, and had anticipated that some time just such a situation as this might arise.  Now that it had come, he was ready.  There was scarcely an instant of hesitancy, his quick searching eyes surveying the scene, and then seeking the face of his prisoner.

“Willing to fight this out, Jim?” he asked shortly.

“You bet, Dan; what’s the plan?”

“The big rock in Bear Creek.  We can hold out there until dark.  Perhaps there’ll be some men come to help us by that time; if not we might crawl away in the night.  Take the alley and turn at the hotel.  Don’t let anybody stop you; here comes those hell-hounds from inside.  Christopher Columbus, I hate to run from such cattle, but it’s our only chance.”

There was no time to waste.  They were not yet at the mouth of the alley when the infuriated pursuers burst through the saloon doors, cursing and shouting.  Lacy led them, animated by the one desire to kill Westcott, fully aware that this alone would prevent the exposure of his own crime.

“There they go!” he yelled madly, and fired.  “Get that dirty murderer, boys—­get him!”

There were a dozen shots, but the two runners plunged about the corner of the building, and disappeared, apparently untouched.  Lacy leaped from the platform to the ground, shouting his orders, and the crowd surged after him in pursuit, some choosing the alley, others the street.  Revolvers cracked sharply, little spits of smoke showing in the sunlight; men shouted excitedly, and two mounted cowboys lashed their ponies up the dusty road in an effort to head off the fugitives.  Twice the two turned and fired, yet at that, hardly paused in their race.  Westcott held back, retarded by the shorter legs of his companion, nevertheless they were fully a hundred feet in advance of their nearest pursuers when they reached the hotel.  In spite of Lacy’s urging the cowardly crew exhibited small desire to close in.  The marshal, glancing back over his shoulder, grinned cheerfully.

“We’ve got ’em beat, Jim,” he panted, “less thar’s others headin’ us off; run like a white-head; don’t mind me.”