Instead, he had selected Denny out of the opposing ranks and bored through the crowd in his direction, heedless of all efforts to stop him.  His great strength had enabled him to gain ground; he had hurled his assailants aside, upsetting them, bursting through the press as a football-player penetrates a line; and when the retreat had begun he was close at the heels of his victim.  He had overtaken Denny beside one of the barricades just as Denny seized a rifle and raised it.  With one wrench he possessed himself of the weapon, and the next instant he had bent the barrel over its owner’s head.

Then, as the fight surged onward, he had gathered the limp figure in his arms and borne it into the light of a gasolene-torch, where he could administer first aid.  He was kneeling over the fellow when Appleton found him as he came stumbling along the grade.

But the decisive moment had come and gone now, and without a leader to command them Gordon’s men seemed loath to adopt a more bloody reprisal.  They gave way, therefore, in a half-hearted hesitation that spelled ruin to their cause.  They were forced back to their encampment:  over the ground they had vacated picks and shovels began to fly, rails were torn up and relaid, gravel rained from the flat cars, the blockhouses were razed, and above the rabble the locomotive panted and wheezed, its great yellow eye glaring through the night.  When it backed away another took its place; the grade rose to the level of the intersection, then as morning approached it crept out beyond.  By breakfast-time a long row of flats extended across the line which Curtis Gordon had tried to hold in defiance of the law.

Dan Appleton, very dirty, very tired, but happy, found Natalie and Eliza awaiting him when he limped up to their tent in the early morning light.  One of his eyes was black and nearly closed, his lips were cut and swollen, but he grinned cheerfully as he exclaimed: 

“Say!  It was a great night, wasn’t it?”

Eliza cried out in alarm at his appearance.

“You poor kid!  You’re a sight.”  She ran for hot water and soap, while Natalie said, warmly: 

“You were perfectly splendid, Dan.  I knew you’d do it.”

“Did you?” He tried to smile his appreciation, but the effort resulted in a leer so repulsive that the girl looked dismayed.  “You ought to have seen the shindy.”

“Seen it!  Maybe we didn’t!”

“Honestly?”

“Did you think we could stay behind?  We sneaked along with the cook-house gang, and one of them helped us up on the gravel-cars.  He smelled of dish-water, but he was a hero.  We screamed and cried, and Eliza threw stones until Mr. O’Neil discovered us and made us get down.  He was awfully mean.”

“He’s a mean man.”

“He isn’t!  He was jumping around on one leg like a crippled grasshopper.”

“I made a thousand dollars,” said Dan.  “Guess what I’m going to do with it?”