The firing was soon over. The Kid's gun had roared a swift tattoo of hammering shots. Dust flew from the wall near his head, but he had spoiled the aim of both outlaws by fast, hair-trigger shooting. One sank against a broken-down bunk in one corner, reamed through the upper right arm and chest. The other fired again, but his gun hand was dangling, and he missed by a foot. Playing cards were scattered, as the other pair of bandits jumped up with their hands over their heads.
"We got enough!" they yelped. "Don't shoot!"
Kid Wolf lashed out at Blacksnake, who was rushing him again. The short, powerful blow to the jaw sent the leader down for good. He rolled over, stunned.
"Bueno." The Texan smiled. "Keep yo' hands right theah, please, caballeros."
Before the powder fumes had cleared away, he had liberated Lefty and
Red with quick strokes of his bowie.
"I reckon we've got the uppah hand now, boys." He smiled. "Let's try and keep it. Take their guns, Red."
The two Diamond D men had been as surprised as the outlaws had been. They had watched the gun fight fearfully and hopefully, and it was an enthusiastic pair that shook off their severed bonds to clap The Kid across the back. There was no time for conversation now, however, and they busied themselves with disarming their five prisoners and binding them with rope.
"Gee, Kid!" Red whistled. "We thought we were done, and when yuh came in and made sparks fly—whew!"
"Theah'll be moah spahks fly, I'm afraid," the Texan drawled. "How'd yo' like to make some spahks fly yo'selves?"
The others showed their eagerness. The fighting fever was in their veins, especially since the death of poor Mike Train. And now, with Blacksnake and half the outlaw gang captured, they felt that they had a good part of the battle won. Red tried to question Blacksnake about his brother's death, but the outlaw was stubborn and refused to talk. Had it not been for Kid Wolf, Red would have fallen on his enemy and beaten him with his fists. And none of them could blame him.