"Crack."
The explosion of a revolver shot.
"Wow."
A yell of pain.
Remedios seized his shooting wrist in his left hand and danced up and down in the road, while his weapon fell to the ground.
Frank, who a moment before had been gazing into the leveled weapon of the traitorous Mexican chauffeur, whirled about to face his friends in the car.
Smoking revolver in hand, Jack Hampton stood upright in the front seat. It was he who had fired the shot.
"I didn't touch him," cried Jack, "merely shot his revolver from his hand. Jump in Frank, for here come the bandits."
With a rattle and roar the car of the bandits approached, not the length of two city blocks away on the desert trail.
Frank took in the situation at a glance.