Perhaps his silence added to the effect of his threatening movements, but at any rate the villainous quartette shrank away from him, feeling they had caught a Tartar.
Shadow never lost his composure.
Keeping his face to them, he slowly backed away from them.
They followed him up, chagrined, yet resolute, wishing to retrieve their mistake.
One or two swift glances Shadow threw behind him, then changed the line of his retreat, at last fetching up in a doorway.
With his back planted against the door, the villains could only attack him from the front, and this—well, Shadow smiled. He gauged their temper and courage to a T.
Fire-arms are tools too noisy for such fellows, and they were armed with knives. To make these effective it was necessary to get within arm's length.
But to do this in the face of Shadow's revolver was a task they had little relish to attempt.
Silent as the grave itself, and grim as a man of stone, Shadow kept his revolver raised, his finger on the trigger, ready to defend himself.
Nearer came the villains.