It struck, but not with the loud
explosion which Bard had expected. There was a dull report, as of a shot
fired at a great distance, the scream of Sally from the door, and then
liquid fire spurted from the lamp across the table, whipped in a flare
to the ceiling, and licked against the walls. It shot to all sides but
it shot high, and every man was down on his face.
Anthony, scarcely believing that he was still alive, rushed for the
door, with a cry of agony ringing in his ears from the voice beyond the
room. One man in all that crowd was near enough or had the courage to
obey the master even to the uttermost. The gaunt form of Calamity Ben
blocked the doorway in front of Bard, blocked it with poised revolver.
"Halt!" he yelled.
But the other rushed on. Calamity whipped down the gun and fired, but
even before the trigger was pulled he was sagging toward the floor, for
Bard had shot to kill. Over the prostrate form of the cowpuncher he
leaped, and into the night, where the white face of Sally greeted him.
Outside the red inferno of that room, as if the taste of blood had
maddened him, he raised his arms and shouted, like one crying a wild
prayer: "William Drew! William Drew! Come out to me!"
Small, strong hands gripped his wrists and turned him away from the
house.
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