He turned gaspingly and recognized his strange benefactor, Flynn.

"I call you all to witness, gentlemen," continued the gambler, turning dictatorially to the crowd, "that this man was FIRST attacked and was UNARMED." He lifted Flint's limp and empty hands and then pointed to the dead man, who was still grasping the weapon.

"Come!" He caught the half-paralyzed arm of Flint and dragged him into the street.
"But," stammered the horrified Flint, as he was borne along, "what does it all mean?
What made that man attack me ?" "I reckon it was a case of shooting on sight, Mr.Fowler; but he missed it by not waiting to see if you were armed.

It wasn't the square thing, and you're all right with the crowd now, whatever he might have had agin' you." "But," protested the unhappy Flint, "I never laid eyes on the man before, and my name isn't Fowler." Flynn halted, and dragged him in a door way.

"Who the devil are you ?" he asked roughly.
Briefly, passionately, almost hysterically, Flint told him his scant story.