The muzzle had been pointed skyward, however, and both charges of buckshot had been driven off into space, to fall to the earth many yards beyond.
“Reade! Hazelton!” choked Rafe Bodson, leaping forward. “You fellows certainly have grit! Here, Hazelton, let me help you with that loco (crazy) hotel man.”
Jeff, in the meantime had rolled Jim Duff over on his back, then sat on him. When Duff returned to consciousness he found himself gazing into the muzzle of an automatic revolver.
Harry and Bodson made a quick, sure job of tying Ashby's wrists with a cord that Rafe supplied.
“You think you've stopped me, don't you?” snarled the hotel man, wild with rage.
“We stopped you in time to keep you from shooting down two men who were at your mercy,” retorted Harry sternly.
“What's that?” gasped Rafe.
“They were going to shoot you with your hands in the air,” Tom declared.
“That's another of your lies, Reade,” snarled the gambler.
“It's you who are doing the lying, Duff,” rejoined Tom stiffly. “I came to my senses just in time to hear you tell Ashby to kill one man while you killed the other.”