Marion and Steve seemed frozen. Their guns had swerved from Snake’s body. The door still stood open, and between officers and criminal stood three people. Snake broke for freedom.
But Douglas had thought of that. Hardly had he glimpsed the officers when he swung back. At Snake’s first move he sprang.
Snake reached the doorway. But he went no farther. With the all-concealing darkness before his eyes—something struck him. An arm swooped under his jaw, yanking fiercely back on his throat. A knee smote the small of his back, numbing his legs. A savage fist crashed under his right ear. He collapsed.
Still holding his throat-lock, Douglas dragged him back to the middle of the room and flung him down with a thud that jarred the whole house.
“Here he is,” he said curtly. “Now grill him.”
“Good eye, Hampton,” Ward approved, smiling grimly. “We couldn’t git to him with these kids in the way. Guess you got a whole lot of satisfaction out of that wallop, huh?”
“A whole lot!” Douglas nodded, opening and shutting his right fist. “Now you—— Steve! Quit that!”
The refugee, his wolfish teeth bared, was slowly backing doorward, his gun now covering the hated trailers.
“Yeah!” snarled Bill, reaching backward again. “Put that gun down and freeze right where y’are! We wantcha, my fine boid!”
“Ye ain’t got me,” came the hoarse answer. “An’ ye don’t git me! Ye pull that gun o’ yourn an’ ye won’t never shoot! I got ye cold!”