Mark Carter's lips twisted in a snarl of rage. He lunged after the antiquarian, big fists balled and deadly.
"Look out!"
It was Professor Duchard, his voice a shrill warning blast.
Mark's eyes shifted. He caught the sudden spearing movement of Vance's right hand. Lashed out in savage fury to meet the new threat.
The antiquarian shrank back. The other's fist drove by him. Missed him by a hair.
And then his right hand was back in view. Back, and gripping the butt of a long-barreled Smith & Wesson Magnum. His teeth were bared, in a grimace of hideous triumph.
Like a rattlesnake striking, he slashed out with the heavy gun. Brought it down at his adversary's head in a vicious blow.
Mark still reeled, off balance, from his own missed blow. But he saw the gun descending. Threw up his arm to ward it off.
The barrel caught him at the juncture of shoulder and collar bones. Sent screaming pain stabbing to the farthest reaches of his brain. Paralyzed his whole side. He staggered drunkenly.
Again that triumphant leer contorted Vance's hatchet face. Once more he whipped the pistol barrel down.