The man who had given the name of Dade made the effort to reach the letter, which was just what Noll was trying to make him do. That move would keep one of the desperate fellow's hands away from his weapons for a second or two.
Two doors opened like a flash. Lieutenant Prescott and Private Overton were darting on tip-toe into the expected fray.
"Blick, get your hands up—high! Get 'em up quick, or take lead!" ordered Lieutenant Prescott imperiously. "Don't try any tricks!"
Reaching his man at a bound, the young Army officer thrust his revolver squarely up against the fellow's breast.
"Great Scott, mister, don't shoot!" yelled the stranger in a quavering voice.
"Then up with your hands, Blick!"
As though in terror the stranger had sprung back two or three feet. This was done with the quickness of a wildcat.
As a part of the same movement the desperate man threw up one foot in a clever kick.
His heavy boot struck Lieutenant Prescott's right wrist with fearful force, sending the pistol flying and nearly breaking the young officer's wrist.
Private Hal Overton had started at the same instant, but he had further to go.