He was nearly half across the street when two men came into sight and met suddenly just outside a window of the hotel.

Billy, in the gloom of starlight and no moon, could not tell who they were; he heard a sharp sentence or two, saw them close together, heard a blow.

Then they broke apart and there was the flash of a shot.

One man fell and the other whirled about as if he would run, but Billy was then almost upon them and the man turned back and stood looking down at the fallen figure.
"Damn him, he pulled a knife on me!" he cried defensively.

Billy saw that it was the Pilgrim.
"Who is he ?" he asked, and knelt beside the form.