The resort was a low-ceiled apartment, badly ventilated, and reeking from the smell of beer and tobacco. Why such places were permitted to exist was a mystery to Ben and to all others who went in for order and decency. Behind the dirty bar stood a tall, lean, and yellow-faced Westerner, probr ably a man who had been run out of some mining camp for the good of the community at large.
"I want to go upstairs," said Ben, shortly. "How can I get up?"
"Wanter go upstairs, stranger?" drawled the man, eying the young major sharply. "Wot fer, ef I may enquire?"
"I want to see the man who is in hiding up there."
"Ain't no feller hidin' up thar, stranger. Must be some mistake."
"There is no mistake, and I shall go up," said Ben, quietly. "Come, Larry."
He started for the rear of the saloon, where there was a partly enclosed stairway leading upward. With a rush the keeper of the resort came from behind the bar and confronted him.
"Yer can't go up, an' thet settles it," he snarled.
Ben stepped back. "Do you know who I am?"
