“Run, John! Run!” yelled Stan and his feet could be heard scurrying away.
Obeying, instinctively, John rolled to his feet, thrashed off through the bushes and began to run. Behind him came thundering feet, and shouting voices. If the men had been surprised and startled by the flare of light and John’s yell they had soon gotten over that and had spread out to capture the boys. John stumbled through bushes, crashed headlong into a tree trunk, saw stars and zooming comets flare through his mind, and went sprawling backwards! Even as he fell and heard the overtaking pursuers, he had a feeling all was over!
CHAPTER X
Nevada’s Biggest Plot
THE fight between Dago and Gallagher was one of the shortest fights Cowboy Nevada had ever witnessed, for the G-man was strong, capable, possessed of dynamite in either fist, and showed a willingness to mix in. Neither the super-criminal himself nor the swarthy henchman knew, of course, that they had a man there trained for just such emergencies. Cowboy only knew that here was a man who could fight and was therefore something to be desired as a personal bodyguard. And Dago knew very little until he was brought to by a pan of water expertly thrown upon him by bland Wan Ho Din.
From the moment Cowboy had given the order to “Get going!” Mr. Sandborn had waded in, fencing through flailing arms as Dago strove to knock him out, then, with the first hint of a good opening, letting the surprised opponent have a sound crack on the jaw which took lots of fight out of him. Staggered, Dago blundered by trying a hay-maker, and Gallagher let him have another full on the jaw. Two of those punches were quite enough and Dago collapsed.
“That was well done, Gallagher,” said Cowboy. “A very neat job. Guess you better take Dago’s place from now on. Unless—you ain’t interested!”
“Take Dago’s place? Be the big shot next to you, Nevada? Lead me to it!” Gallagher cried. “Have you gotta comb? I mussed my hair. Don’t generally have so much trouble with these tough guys.”
Dago, silent and glaring, shook the water from his head as a trace of a smile came over Wan Ho Din’s face, and went off. That he would spare no chance to even the score with Gallagher, none there doubted.
Dinner was shortly to be served and, in the dining room of the cabin, Gallagher was formally introduced to some dozen men, mostly young men hard of face and steely eyed and all inclined to excessive cigarette smoking as if their nerves were constantly on edge. There were chairs set for a dozen more at the long table though food was not placed there.
“Some of the boys is away on business, Gallagher,” explained Cowboy, indicating the empty seats. “And some ain’t never going to be here anymore. Them’s the ones that’s had—accidents——”