"One! two! three—"
There was no need of uttering the word fire, for the revolver of each flashed at three.
And the result?
Schuyler Cluett staggered backward, his hand to his head, while Kent Lomax dropped as though a bullet had pierced his brain.
"Shot through the heart," said Rayford coolly, and then turning to his friend he added:
"I think that should cancel my indebtedness to you, Schuyler."
"What?"
"I put a ball of putty, wrapped with tin-foil, in his pistol, and even with it he left his mark in the dead centre of your forehead, for it is bruised; but had it been lead, you would have been a dead man."
"Great Heavens! did you do that?" asked Schuyler Cluett.
"I did."