By this time, occupants of the hotel were running down the hall, while others were hammering at the door.  Lasar had turned the key upon entering the room.

Those within did not have time to listen to the demands of those in the hall, who were demanding admission.

Mr. Marquand, as soon as he got his opponent down, quickly disarmed him.

“Get up!” he commanded.  “I don’t want to kill you.  I ought to do so, but I won’t.”

He sprang from Comstock, and jerking Tad from Lasar, whom the lad was making heroic efforts to hold down, pulled the fallen rascal to his feet.

“Get out, both of you!” he commanded, covering both his visitors with his weapon.

Lasar, in struggling to his feet, reached for his revolver.

“Drop it or I’ll fill you full of lead!”

At that instant, the door burst open and half a dozen men sprang into the room.

Lasar, seeing that he was caught, leaped through the open window.  He was followed closely by Comstock.  He, too, made a clean leap, landing on the soft ground below.

“What’s the meaning of this shooting?” shouted the proprietor, his face flushed with anger.

“Two men tried to murder me,” replied Marquand coolly.

“It looks as though you were doing your share of it,” snapped the proprietor, noting his guest’s belligerent attitude and drawn weapon.

Just then three shots in quick succession were fired from the outside.  Two of the bullets narrowly missed some of the men, who had forced their way into the room.

As the third shot was fired, Tad threw one hand to his head; then drew it away grinning.

“Those rascals have evidently gotten a new supply of fire arms,” he said.

A bullet had gone through his hair and his scalp burned where the lead had brushed it.

All of the newcomers drew their revolvers and sprang to the window.

“Don’t shoot!” cried the Pony Rider Boy; “You’ll hit the wrong one.  There are a hundred people down there.”

“He’s right!” shouted Mr. Marquand, pushing his way between the men and the window, at the imminent risk of getting a bullet in his back from either Lasar or Comstock.  “Let ’em go.  They’ll be running for home about this time.  They are a couple of scoundrels, sir.”

“But the damage.  Look at my fine room.”

“I’ll pay for the damage, and I’ll quit your hotel now.  I’ve had enough of the place,” retorted Mr. Marquand, pulling a roll of bills from his pocket.  “How much is it?”

“Well, you see—­”

“How much is it?”

“Well, I guess twenty-five would be about right.  You see—­”

“Here’s your twenty-five.  Clear out!”

With many apologies the proprietor, accompanied by the others, backed from the room.

“We came pretty near having a fight, didn’t we?” Marquand smiled, looking at Tad for the first time since the disturbance began.