“Pick your shell,” said the Saint. “Fifty is a lot of money to give away.”
Loper studied the shells for a moment and made his choice. The pea was not there. With a swift movement of his hand he upset the other shell and found it empty.
He stepped back angrily.
“That’s a crooked game!” he roared. “You just stole my money——”
Loper drew his gun as he rasped out his accusation, which was never finished. The Saint’s hand flashed to his waist; a downward and upward movement, so fast that it seemed to be one short snap, and his pistol spouted fire a second before Loper shot.
Loper jerked back as though struck by a mighty blow and his bullet sped harmlessly over the Saint’s head. For an instant the crowd was silent. Loper had half caught his balance, but it was only an instant before he fell forward on his face.
Into the startled crowd came Luck, running swiftly to the Saint.
“Look out, Saint!” yelled Duke. “It’s a trick to kill you.”
Another pistol thudded from nearer the saloon, and the Saint staggered sideways from the shock of the bullet. It was Mendez shooting from the sidewalk. Duke sprang into a cleared spot and fired twice at Mendez, who tried to run, but seemed to collapse half-way in the saloon door, at the feet of Silver Sleed.
The street cleared as though by magic, and Duke could see the Saint on his hands and knees beside his little table, trying to pull himself up. A woman screamed and a man cursed wonderingly in a high-pitched voice.