"No!" he screamed. "No, no, no!"
Slowly Belton's hand came from his coat. His stubby, grimy fist clutched a long knife. "It was you," he cried. He raised the knife in a shining arc.
Then little Shafer's fear changed to desperation. With a scream he jumped back and clawed at his coat. He was quick now. Fear had maddened him. A mean little pistol appeared in his hand. He fired point-blank at Belton's face.
Belton staggered and fell. His hands came up to a bleeding face that was a face no more. He screamed a wild, bubbly scream. Then he rolled into the fire, screamed again, struggled to his feet, and fell again—and lay still.
"You tricked me, damn you all." Shafer stood above the two seated men and brandished his gun. His eyes were burning now, little close-set pools of mad fire. His shaking hand steadied and lowered the gun toward Duane.
Duane's hand moved like a rattlesnake striking. Two stabs of flame lanced into the night. Shafer stumbled and fell.
Duane turned his attention to Captain. The little man was nursing a broken arm. A gun that had been levelled at Duane was slipping from deadened fingers.
"You fool," he cried. "You killed him. I believed that story. He knew where the uranium was."
Duane shrugged. "He was crazy. A killer. I know your kind, Captain. I knew what you were thinking when he hinted that he knew where a load of uranium was. You were figuring then that only you and Shafer would go away from this fire. You had your gun on me just then, ready to polish me off if Shafer missed."
"Damned blundering idiot," Captain swore. "Oh, I wish I had some of my men here."