Sinister and strident rose the laugh as long, quick fingers pressed the triggers of automatics. Each .45 roared deadly welcome, another proof of this fierce battler’s identity. Trapping crooks had met a trapper.
Again, the remnants of Zack Ruggey’s outlaw crew were faced by their invincible foe, The Shadow!
CHAPTER X. FLIGHT IN THE DARK
AUTOMATICS recoiled as they coughed their deadly message. Long thrusts of flame scorched the foremost pair of ruffians who were bearing down upon The Shadow.
Sprawling, diving, the two killers pitched forward, their loosening gun hands useless. Clawing wildly, they gripped their enemy.
Four others were hard upon the heels of those who had tottered. Venomously, these thugs were aiming.
They tugged at triggers as they surged into the fray. Revolvers barked; simultaneously, automatics blazed again. The Shadow had twisted in the grasp of sinking crooks. Wild bullets whistled past the spot where he had been.
Another rowdy staggered; but his body served to block The Shadow’s fire. Squarely before the big gun muzzles, this fellow took the brunt. His pals were wheeling; but The Shadow offered them no chance to follow their advantage.
Lunging forward, he hurled away the sagging body that confronted him, and launched squarely into the midst of the murderous trio that remained.
Clutching hands grabbed for The Shadow’s wrists. Wild fists swung revolvers, striking at a bobbing head.
Arms up, The Shadow wrenched away and delivered a stroke with a ready .45; his weapon encountered the closest of three skulls.
The last pair grappled with The Shadow, grabbing with both hands, one on either side, while their pal sagged to the floor between them.
Two against one, they wanted a chance to kill; but they were dealing with a fighter who weaved about too skillfully for them. The trio staggered in a long, eccentric circle, while members of the crowd were scattering from their path.
Terrified bystanders had chosen the route toward the street. They had become a milling, frantic horde, all with one objective. The space where The Shadow fought had cleared. He and his two opponents were wrestling above the forms of sprawled thugs on the floor.
Upon the platform, the Mexicans had reached the auctioneer. One was cowering the Chinaman, with upraised knife; another was snatching the teakwood box from the frightened Oriental’s hands.
Tsing Chan was back against the wall, his arms outspread. A leering Mexican was close beside him, ready with a machete, should the Chinese make a move. Tsing Chan was motionless, almost bland as he eyed the gleaming blade of the long knife.
ACTION had started elsewhere. With The Shadow’s first move, Harry Vincent and Miles Crofton had wheeled about, each drawing an automatic.
They had other tasks, while The Shadow fought. One was to rout the Mexican from the platform. Harry chose that duty. Springing forward with leveled automatic, he raised a cry to bring the trio toward him.
His gun was a threat that the Mexican would respect, for Harry could fire before they could reach him with their machetes. The Mexicans were mestizos, of low class, the very type that would scatter if their lives were menaced.
As Harry headed for the platform, Miles turned toward Dave Kelroy. The young man was staring, half bewildered, too astonished to make a move of his own volition.
Miles seized him by the arm and spun him toward the screened doorway at the right. He wanted to get Kelroy from the danger zone, before new assassins might arrive.
Until that moment, Colin Eldreth had made no move. He, like Dave Kelroy, had been rooted. He had given no sign to show his interest in proceedings. But when Miles leaped toward Dave, Colin came to life. Whipping a stubnosed revolver from his hip pocket, Colin sprang straight for Miles and Dave.
His lips gave a blurred, angry cry, as token that he intended to end this intervention. Miles wheeled to see Colin’s aiming gun, covering both himself and Dave.
Instantly, The Shadow’s agent sprang toward Colin, hurling his body in the path of the aiming gun, to protect Dave Kelroy from a shot.
Colin faltered momentarily, long enough for Miles to reach him. The Shadow’s agent was swinging his automatic; Colin warded off the blow and spun about to gain new aim.
Harry Vincent, hearing the shouts, forgot the Mexicans long enough to whirl about. He saw Miles and Colin as they locked in a furious struggle.
Harry’s later recollection of that moment was a vivid one, a fixed tableau that never left his memory. He had left the Mexicans half turned toward him, leering as they snarled from the platform, with Tsing Chan and the auctioneer motionless beyond them. He saw Miles Crofton at grips with Colin Eldreth.
He spied Dave Kelroy, halfway to the screened doorway, impelled to flight at Crofton’s urge. Harry saw The Shadow, heaving off both thugs with one mighty effort. He saw the door, where a new band of hard-faced rowdies were carving in through the last of the fleeing crowd.
THEN came sudden blackness as someone switched off the lights of the bazaar. In one instant, the whole situation was changed. Lights from the street afforded no glow for the scene.
Guns roared; tongues of flame jabbed through the darkness. The Shadow had sprawled his last two foemen, in time to meet newcomers from the door. He had planned to down the new invaders with the aid of light. Darkness did not handicap The Shadow. He knew where the door was located. His aim was true.
Revolvers barked futile replies. Crooks were firing wildly as they fell. They had a lone target; The Shadow was aiming for a group. The darkness gave him welcome cover, that eased his task. Shouts told that the reserves were diving out to the street, repelled by The Shadow’s lone attack.
Feet were scurrying from the platform, proof that the Mexicans were staging a getaway. No sound located Miles Crofton and Colin Eldreth. Harry could not guess in what direction those strugglers had staggered.
He was sure, however, that Miles could take care of himself. Harry’s only possible opportunity at present was to get Dave Kelroy out of danger.
Hurrying blindly toward the spot where he thought Kelroy stood, Harry spoke a greeting, in an undertone.
“Hello, there,” he addressed the darkness. “I’m a friend. Come along, I’ll get you out of here.”
“I’m ready,” came a reply.
Reaching Kelroy by locating the man’s voice, Harry gripped him by the arm. Together, they reached the nearer screen and crashed against it. The screen tumbled. The two kept onward. They found a passage and blundered through until they reached an outer door. Yanking the barrier open, they reached the dim light of a rear street.
Harry started to look about; then, with a sudden shout, he pointed. Three men were diving from another doorway, out into the street. They were the Mexicans; the leader of the trio was carrying a large black box. Kelroy saw the scurrying mestizos. He made a quick appeal to Harry.
“They’ve got the box!” cried Dave. “The box with the silver dragon! Stop them!”
Harry started from his own doorway, raising his automatic to fire. Another shout came from Kelroy.
Before Harry could understand the warning, four men surged from the door behind him. They were Chinamen. With clawing hands they pounced upon The Shadow’s agent.
HARRY swung hard with his gun. He staggered one Celestial with a single blow; then hit another with a glancing stroke. Dave sprang in to aid.
He grabbed one Chinaman and wrestled back and forth with his opponent. The two whom Harry had struck were staggering back into the bazaar building. Only one remained to fight The Shadow’s agent.