Ran until, reaching the tienda, the foremost stumbled over the body of Shuttleworth; came upon the half-sitting, half-leaning figure of Saunders against its adobe wall! The doors were barred and closed, and even as the crowd charged furiously forward, a window was sharply shut above, in their very face.
"Stand back, gentlemen! Lift him up.

What's the row?
What is it, Saunders?
Who did it?
Speak, man!" But Saunders, who was still supporting himself against the wall, only looked at them with a singular and half-apologetic smile, and then leaned forward as if to catch the eye of Shuttleworth, who was recovering consciousness in the uplifted arms of his companions.

But neither spoke.
"It's some d----d Greaser inside!" said Thompson, with sudden ferocity.
"Some of her cursed crew! Break down the doors, boys!" "Stop!" It was the voice of Shuttleworth, speaking with an effort.

He was hard hit, somewhere in the groin; pain and blood were coming with consciousness and movement, and his face was ghastly.

Yet there was the same singular smile of embarrassment which Saunders had worn, and a touch of invincible disgust in his voice as he stammered quickly, "Don't be d----d fools! It's no one in THERE.