Allen’s voice was lifeless, flat, again. His soft tones gave greater force to his threat.
Bill Tucker shuddered. When first he attempted to speak, no sound came from his lips; then a flood of disjointed words poured forth:
“Ace High—Baldy Kane—to get him—men he warned to leave—hurry—hurry!”
The words were still pouring forth when Jim Allen bounded out of the jail and ran toward the Ace High Saloon. He had heard enough to know that the trap was set and that Jack had walked into it. Slivers came after him and cursed at the cans that caught his feet. Fast as Slivers ran, Allen had reached the Ace High and was pushing through the crowd about the entrance before his companion had covered half the distance from the jail.
A group of spectators had gathered in the street before the saloon. Some had left the Ace High at the first sign of trouble. Like carrion crows, others had gathered to witness a killing.
“The Wolf!”
Like a startled band of sheep, they opened a path to allow him to pass. Far better to try to block an avalanche than Jim-twin Allen. He was a relentless force of destruction. His face was drawn into a thousand tiny wrinkles; the corners of his lips were drawn up; his eyes were great pools of yellow flame. Walking stiff-legged like a wolf, yellow eyes flaring, body loose and swaying, hands hanging close to his big guns, he stalked through the crowd into the saloon.
Jack Allen stood in a far corner, with his back to the wall. Before him stood Baldy Kane. A little to Baldy’s right stood a group of five men—five of the ten who had been ordered out of town that day. The Wolf saw it all now. Jack had been sent there to arrest Baldy. Even if he got Baldy, those five men would get him.
As Jim-twin Allen stalked by the bar toward the group in the rear, the bartender called out:
“Look! The Wolf!”