"Hold on there. This isn't a free-lunch counter. Don't you see
we're crowded up here already?"
"What's eating you ? Whyfor, can't we come?" growled one of the
foremost nursing an injured nose.
"I've just explained to you, son, that it's crowded. Folks are
prevalent enough up here right now. Send up that bunch of keys
and we'll bring your meat to you fast enough."
"What's that? What's that?" The outlaw chief pushed his way
through the dense mob at the door and reached the stairway.
"He won't let us up," growled one of them.
"Who won't?" demanded Bannister sharply, and at once came leaping
up the stairs.
"Nothing doing," drawled Frisco, and tossed him over the railing
on to the heads of his followers below.
They carried Bannister into the open air, for his head had struck
the newel-post in his descent. This gave the defense a few
minutes respite.
"They're going to come a-shooting next time," remarked Denver.
"Just as soon as he comes back from bye-low land you'll see
things hum."
"Y'u bet," agreed Missou. We'll last about three minutes when the
stampede begins."
The scream of an engine pierced the night.
Denver's face lit. "Make it five minutes, Missou, and Mac is
safe.
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