Minster had already marked his coming. The rifle cracked, and a blow to the side of his head knocked Peter Zinn into utter blackness. A searing pain and the hot flow of blood down his face brought back his senses. He leaped to his feet again; he heard a yelp of joy as Blondy danced away before him; then he drove past the writhing body of Tom Frejus. The gun spoke again from the window; the red-hot torment stabbed him again, he knew not where. Then he reached the door of the building and gave his shoulder to it.
It was a thing of paper that ripped open before him. He plunged through into the room beyond, where he saw the long, snarling face of the young Minster in the shadow of a corner with the gleam of the leveled rifle barrel. He dodged as the gun spat fire, heard brief and wicked humming beside his ear, then scooped up in one hand heavy chair and flung it at the gunman.
Minster went down with his legs and arms sprawled in an odd position, and Peter Zinn gave him not so much as another glance, for he knew that this part of his work was done.
“Lew! Lew!” cried a voice from the back of the building. “What’s happened? What’s up? D’you want help?”
“Ay!” shouted Peter Zinn. “He wants help. You damn’ murderer, it’s me—Peter Zinn! Peter Zinn!”
He kicked open the door beyond and ran full into the face of a lightning flash. It withered the strength from his body. He slumped down on the floor with his loose shoulders resting against the wall. In a twilight dimness he saw big Jeff Minster standing in a thin swirl of smoke with the rifle muzzle twitching down and steadying for the finishing shot, but a white streak leaped through the doorway, over his shoulder, and flew at Minster.
Before the sick eyes of Peter Zinn, the man and the dog whirled into a blur of darkness streaked with white. There passed two long, long seconds, thick with stampings, the wild curses of Jeff Minster, the deep and humming growl of Blondy. Moreover, out of the distance a great wave of voices was rising, sweeping toward the building.
Jeff Minster, yelling with pain and rage, caught out his hunting knife and raised it. He stabbed, but still Blondy clung.
The eyes of Peter cleared. He saw Blondy fastened to the right leg of Jeff Minster above the knee. The rifle had fallen to the floor and Jeff Minster, yelling with pain and rage, had caught out his hunting knife, had raised it. He stabbed. But still Blondy clung. “No, no!” screamed Peter Zinn.