And the bandit was gone.
All in a moment the dance hall seemed to have gone mad.

Men were rushing about and shouting; panic-stricken women clawed at one another and fought their way toward a freedom they could not gain.

Windows crashed as forms hurtled against them; screams sounded.

Hurriedly, as the crowd massed thicker, Fairchild raised the small form of Anita in his arms and carried her to a chair, far at one side.
"It's all right now," he said, calming her.

"Everything 's over--look, they 're helping the fiddler to his feet.