“Point out this Radford Chase to me,” said Gale.

“There!  The big fellow with the red face.  His eyes stick out a little.  See!  He’s dropped his cards and his face isn’t red any more.”

Dick strode across the room.

Belding grasped Mr. Gale and whispered hoarsely:  “Don’t miss anything.  It ’ll be great.  Watch Dick and watch Laddy!  If there’s any gun play, dodge behind me.”

Belding smiled with a grim pleasure as he saw Mr. Gales’ face turn white.

Dick halted beside the table.  His heavy boot shot up, and with a crash the table split, and glasses, cards, chips flew everywhere.  As they rattled down and the chairs of the dumfounded players began to slide Dick called out:  “My name is Gale.  I’m looking for Mr. Radford Chase.”

A tall, heavy-shouldered fellow rose, boldly enough, even swaggeringly, and glowered at Gale.

“I’m Radford Chase,” he said.  His voice betrayed the boldness of his action.

It was over in a few moments.  The tables and chairs were tumbled into a heap; one of the pool tables had been shoved aside; a lamp lay shattered, with oil running dark upon the floor.  Ladd leaned against a post with a smoking gun in his hand.  A Mexican crouched close to the wall moaning over a broken arm.  In the far corner upheld by comrades another wounded Mexican cried out in pain.  These two had attempted to draw weapons upon Gale, and Ladd had crippled them.

In the center of the room lay Radford Chase, a limp, torn, hulking, bloody figure.  He was not seriously injured.  But he was helpless, a miserable beaten wretch, who knew his condition and felt the eyes upon him.  He sobbed and moaned and howled.  But no one offered to help him to his feet.

Backed against the door of the hall stood Ben Chase, for once stripped of all authority and confidence and courage.  Gale confronted him, and now Gale’s mien was in striking contrast to the coolness with which he had entered the place.  Though sweat dripped from his face, it was as white as chalk.  Like dark flames his eyes seemed to leap and dance and burn.  His lean jaw hung down and quivered with passion.  He shook a huge gloved fist in Chase’s face.

“Your gray hairs save you this time.  But keep out of my way!  And when that son of yours comes to, tell him every time I meet him I’ll add some more to what he got to-day!”

XIX

THE SECRET OF FORLORN RIVER

In the early morning Gale, seeking solitude where he could brood over his trouble, wandered alone.  It was not easy for him to elude the Yaqui, and just at the moment when he had cast himself down in a secluded shady corner the Indian appeared, noiseless, shadowy, mysterious as always.

“Malo,” he said, in his deep voice.

“Yes, Yaqui, it’s bad—­very bad,” replied Gale.

The Indian had been told of the losses sustained by Belding and his rangers.