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Bruce Standing, who had paused but the briefest moment, came on and stepped over the fallen man, and caught up his axe again. He stooped long enough to make out that the deputy's head was not split open; then he swung up his axe, high above his head, and brought it crashing down against the thick oak padlocked door. The sound of the stroke echoed and the echoes were lost in the striking of the second blow. And, when for the third time the axe rose and fell, flashing in the light of the fires, the door fell.

"Out you come, Joe."

Standing's deep, full voice rumbled in a sort of rich, placid content. And out like a rabbit, darted Mexicali Joe, looking pinched and starved and frightened.

"It is you, Señor!" he gasped.

"The crowd will be after you," said Standing. "And I'm not going to worry about what happens to you after this."

He was turning away when Joe caught his sleeve, and stood on his tiptoes and began a rapid, excited whispering. Standing hesitated, then laughed and shook the man off.