The major's hand went suddenly numb. He dropped the derringer. The blade had thudded into his forearm and sliced deeply upward. Dazed, he emitted a wild cry.
The don was not slow to act. He did not know exactly what had happened, but he saw the major's gun fall and heard his frightened yell. Floristo reached hastily for his jewel-studded revolver.
But the Texan had closed in on him. Kid Wolf hit him full in the face and Floristo went sprawling down. He was still jerking at his gun butt as he hit the floor.
The major had recovered somewhat. With his left hand he scooped up the derringer and swung it up desperately to line the barrel on Kid Wolf's heart.
"All right, Harry!" sang out The Kid.
Glass flew out of the window at the south wall and clattered to the tiled floor as an arm, holding a leveled .45, broke through. It was young Thomas.
"Put 'em up!" he cried.
Don Floristo, however, had also raised his gun. A report shook the adobe walls and sent a puff of blue fumes ceilingward. But Harry Thomas had fired first. Floristo collapsed with a moan, rolled over and stiffened.
Kid Wolf sent Major Stover's derringer flying with a contemptuous kick, just as the fear-crazed fat man pulled the trigger.
"Good work, Harry," The Kid approved.