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 up, all set to pile in and take a hand, unarmed as he was. Coburn laid hold of him and told him to keep hands off.

"The damn' fool run into it—let him"

A howl from Wallace in the middle of the struggling bunch broke the boss's words off short. There was a heave away from Wallace, a kick by the mustached man that sent him spinning, a roar of laughter out of those nearest the scene, Eddie Kane dancing and doubling with merriment, slapping his thigh as if a hornet had gone up his leg.

The kicker had faced Wallace toward his friends before applying his foot. The simple cowpuncher almost pitched over the table around which the Bar-Heart-Bar gang stood before he got control of his legs, then he straightened up, one hand to his ear, the other raking for his gun. The gun wasn't there, but the detective badge was pinned to the gristle of Wallace's ear, blood from the puncture running down his neck. A little way in front of the Bar-Heart-Bar gang the four jokers who had carried the little pleasantry to such hilarious finish stood lined up as if inviting trouble. Wallace's gun was lying on the floor.

Tom Simpson jumped for the gun, his legs like springs, his movement so unexpected and quick that even Eddie Kane was caught by surprise. Joe Lobdell and Pete Benson pulled out their weapons to cover their nimble friend's designs, while Sid Coburn turned white around the gills and yelled:

"Put up them guns, I tell you! Put up"

Guns were pulled on the other side, and it looked to the crowd like a pretty good time to hunt the air. There was a surge for the doors, one of which let out directly