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"You've got ter do it, Bob," announced the marshal, shortly, "dead er

alive"

Hampton never hesitated "I 'et

anybody else mixed up in this fuss If you'll promise me a chance for

my life, Buck, I 'll throw up my hands But I prefer a bullet to a

mob"

The little marshal was sandy-haired, freckle-faced, and all nerve He

cast one quick glance to left and right The crowd jaing toward the door; the

hotel opposite was beginning to swar forth froures could be distinguished here and there as, all headed in their direction Ha experience what this e Lynch--they would act first, and reflect later His

square jaws set like a trap

"All right, Bob," said the marshal "You're ht afore the it afterand struggling,

the two sprang forward and dashed into the narrow space between the

livery-stable and the hotel Moffat chanced to be in the passage-way,

and pausing to ask no questions, Mason proentleman

on the back of his head in a pile of discarded tin cans, and kicked

viciously at a yellow dog which ventured to snap at them as they swept

past Behind arose a volley of curses, the thud of feet, an occasional