Chuck Hansom flung up his gun. Arnold shot him before the hammer fell.
Two shots echoed—Fisher fired twice at the ceiling, blew out the lights, and was gone through the doorway, dragging the raging Arnold with him. Behind them the crowd began to mill in wild confusion, not realizing what had happened, engulfed in darkness, fearing more shots from the doorway.
“Confound you!” exclaimed Sam Fisher as he dragged his companion along. “What’d you drop him for? We’d have had a confession out of him later.”
“I seen red,” panted Steve. “I jest couldn’t help it, thinkin’ of the way they’d downed Miguel. He was one o’ the three.”
“Duck in back o’ the hotel, Steve; hurry up! We got to make those horses; there’s going to be a string of hornets on our trail in a hurry.”
Five minutes later the two had ridden out of town. Behind them the lights and confusion died down, but both knew that parties of riders would be on their trail ere long. For a space they pushed their horses in silence, then Fisher reined in.
“Long trail ahead, Steve; no use overdoin’ it,” he said. “I got to thank you for snaking me out of that storeroom. How’d you find out?”
“Heard ’em talk in the front.” Arnold drew in at his stirrup. “Listen! Why in thunder didn’t you tell me you was Sam Fisher?”
“I was aiming to keep it dark a while, Steve,” returned the other apologetically, “only things got to moving too lively and I had to make the play. Did you see Stella?”
“Yep! And say! I ain’t had a chance to tell you yet; things have busted loose aplenty! Buck must ha’ got Jake Harper.”