Both made a rush for Mudd, utterly ignoring the revolvers.
Mudd fired.
The next instant Dick had him by the throat and had wrenched one revolver away, Mudd losing his hold on the other in the struggle which followed, and it fell to the ground.
“Give me those papers! Throw them down, or I’ll fire!” shouted Dick, covering the scoundrel. “I believe on my soul you are the man who killed my father, and——”
“Hold on! Hold on! I’ll do it!” yelled Mudd, in terror.
He thrust his hand into the pocket of his coat, and, drawing out a flat package done up in greasy brown paper, threw it to the ground.
“Oh, Dick, look at Charley! He’s shot!” screamed Clara at the same instant.
Dick foolishly turned his head in answer to this startling cry.
Poor Charley’s face was as white as a sheet; he was slowly sinking down.
Clara sprang to help him, but she was too late; he fell all in a heap, and at the same moment Mudd closed on Dick again.