The bullets from the automatics had been well aimed; most of them had struck the arms and shoulders of the attackers. The Shadow had been swift to cripple his foemen.
Only two of the tribe were capable of further battle. One of them was Pedro. The big Mexican had not been hurt until the chair had struck him during his rush to safety. He was again ready for action, recovered from the blow that had sprawled him.
He still gripped his huge machete. He flourished the weapon and leered venomously as he shouted to Red Mike.
"He is hurt!" cried Pedro. "He is hurt, I tell you! He is in there; where we can get him!"
"Wait a minute," commanded Red Mike.
He turned toward the door that led to the street. Two men were standing there.
"Look outside, boys," ordered Red Mike. "We don't want more gun play until we know that things are quiet."
The men left the Black Ship. The proprietor listened at the door to the inner room.
"We've got him, all right," he said quietly. "He was lucky, that's all. He can't get out of there. We can take our time. Who is he?"
The question was put to Spotter.