During the next few moments Dick’s movements were performed subconsciously—and with the speed of desperation. The girl’s head had appeared in the aperture, when he jumped past her. Feet foremost, he crashed into the repulsive up-turned face; crashed into it, then went down—girl, outlaw and ladder together—landing with a terrific impact that shook the house.
Stunned, he and the girl separated themselves from the confused muddle and struggled to their feet. The outlaw, however, did not stir. When Dick sprang forward and seized his rifle, the man still lay there, one brown, claw-like hand still retaining three or four unstrung beads.
CHAPTER XVIII
A DUSKY FRIEND
No sooner had Dick picked up his rifle than he realized that he could not possibly escape the second half-breed and the sailor who stood by the fireplace. The odds were against him. The sailor had covered him with an ugly-looking automatic, while the breed’s rifle was held at a threatening angle. He put down his gun as quickly as he could, deciding to face the situation squarely. Reaction from his first spasm of fear had left him calm and cool, his mind on the alert.
“You’re too many for me. I’ll give up.”
“You showed a lot of good sense there,” approved the sailor. “We sure would o’ drilled you, Buddy, if you’d made another move. Looks as if you’d done about enough damage now.”
Dick turned his head and looked again at the crumpled form of the girl’s assailant.
“I’m sorry this had to happen. I guess he’ll recover.”
“Playing the hero stuff, eh?” leered the sailor. “She ought to feel pretty proud o’ your work. I must say you made a good job o’ it.”
Dick flushed, but did not reply. He was watching the half-breed, who had advanced upon the old Indian and had demanded a rope with which to bind his prisoner. He saw the old man shake his head. The watery old eyes, set in the curious net-work of wrinkles, roved fearfully from face to face. Would the outlaw please believe him? He spoke the truth. God was his witness.