Mr. Parker leaned forward, and thrust the muzzle of the pistol against his body. The possibilities of the situation had evidently not been lost upon him.
"Keep quiet," he whispered.
Outside, the conversation had begun again, and the Kid had made his decision.
"Pretty rich guy inside," he said, following up his companion's train of thought. "I'm going to rubber through the window."
John met Mr. Parker's eye, and smiled.
There came the sound of the Kid's feet grating on the road, as he turned, and, as he heard it, Mr. Parker for the first time lost his head. With a vague idea of screening John, he half-rose. The pistol wavered. It was the chance John had prayed for. His left hand shot out, grasped the other's wrist, and gave it a sharp wrench. The pistol went off with a deafening report, the bullet passing through the back of the cab, then fell to the floor, as the fingers lost their hold. And the next moment John's right fist, darting upward, crashed home.
The effect was instantaneous. John had risen from his seat as he delivered the blow, and it got the full benefit of his weight. Mr. Parker literally crumpled up. His head jerked, then fell limply forward. John pushed him on to the seat as he slid toward the floor.
The interested face of the Kid appeared at the window. Behind him could be seen portions of the faces of the two thick-necks.
"Hello, Kid," said John. "I heard your voice. I hoped you might look in for a chat."
The Kid stared, amazed.