“Not yet, but soon,” Ward snapped. “She’s dyin’, but we’ve got her whole story wrote down and witnessed. Didn’t know that, did you? Thought the fellows around here were shootin’ at you just on suspicion, hey? Nothin’ to it, Sanders—you’re up against it cold. You give us the double-cross once awhile ago, but we’re collectin’ on that little deal now. Shove out those hands before I bust you one!”
Utter desperation blanched Snake’s face. His hands began to lift as if weights were dragging them down. His hunted eyes flickered all about. Suddenly he stiffened. His left hand flashed up, pointing.
“It’s a lie!” he screeched. “Ther’ she is—ther’ by the winder! Lou! Lou! Come in an’ tell ’em it’s a lie!”
So real was his sudden appeal that involuntarily every man wheeled to see that imaginary figure beyond. Instantly Snake struck.
His right fist shot against Ward’s neck, knocking him headlong. His left smashed into the face of Bill, who was turning back to him. Bill, too, toppled and fell—but reached for his revolver even as he dropped. Hampton, jumping at his enemy, collided with the empty wall. Snake was not there.
He was flashing across the room. At the window he stopped an instant. His hand licked out, seized Hampton’s gun leaning against the wall. He spun about, half leveled it at Hampton, jerked both triggers—got no answering explosion. The safety was on, locking the weapon against discharge. With an oath he whirled to throw himself through the window.
A sharp report cracked from the floor where Bill lay. It was drowned by a stunning crash beyond the prone officer. The house heaved with the terrific concussion. Blue smoke blurred the whole room.
Deafened, Douglas teetered on his heels, peering through the haze at a mangled huddle under the window.
Faintly to his numbed ears came a piercing yell of sated vengeance.
“I got him!” screamed Steve. “Both barrils! Yeeeeow!”