Hampton staggered blindly to his feet, looking down on the motionless
body. He was yet dazed from the sudden cessation of struggle, dazed
still more by something he had seen in the instant that deadly knife
flashed past him. For a moment the room appeared to swim before his
eyes, and he clutched at the overturned table for support, Then, as his
senses returned, he perceived the figures of a number of men jamming
the narrow doorway, and became aware of their loud, excited voices.
Back to his benumbed brain there came with a rush the whole scene, the
desperation of his present situation. He had been found alone with the
dead man. Those men, when they came surging in attracted by the noise
of strife, had found him lying on Slavin, his hand clutching the
knife-hilt. He ran his eyes over their horrified faces, and knew
instantly they held him the murderer.
The shock of this discovery steadied him. He realized the meaning, the
dread, terrible meaning, for he knew the West, its fierce, implacable
spirit of vengeance, its merciless code of lynch-law. The vigilantes
of the mining camps were to him an old story; more than once he had
witnessed their work, been cognizant of their power. This was no time
to parley or to hesitate. He had seen and heard in that room that
which left him eager to live, to be free, to open a long-closed door
hiding the mystery of years. The key, at last, had fallen almost
within reach of his fingers, and he would never consent to be robbed of
it by the wild rage of a mob. He grabbed the loaded revolver lying
upon the floor, and swung Slavin's discarded belt across his shoulder.
If it was to be a fight, he would be found there to the death, and God
have mercy on the man who stopped him!
"Stand aside, gentlemen," he commanded. "Step back, and let me pass!"
They obeyed. He swept them with watchful eyes, stepped past, and
slammed the door behind him. In his heart he held them as curs, but
curs could snap, and enough of them might dare to pull him down. Men
were already beginning to pour into the saloon, uncertain yet of the
facts, and shouting questions to each other. Totally ignoring these,
Hampton thrust himself recklessly through the crowd. Half-way down the
broad steps Buck Mason faced him, in shirt sleeves, his head uncovered,
an ugly "45" in his up-lifted hand. Just an instant the eyes of the
two men met, and neither doubted the grim purpose of the other.