The Shadow, alone, was facing toward the front door. His eyes were the only ones that could discern the darkness of the verandah. Hence it was The Shadow, first, who gave sign of a sudden change.
Harry and his two companions were facing the corner, stolidly covering the prisoners. Hoxon and those beside him were staring sullenly at their captors. Only Laspar was intent upon The Shadow; it was the crooked magnate who gave a sign of the change.
For Laspar saw The Shadow tighten. He saw the black fists come up as The Shadow’s weariness ended.
He saw the cloaked form whirl in sudden tension.
Laspar uttered an elated cry. He guessed instantly what had occurred; and at the same moment, he heard the screen door swing open wide.
Jubal and his minions had come back from the Quest mine. Suspecting trouble here, the swindling lieutenant had launched a surprise attack. Chuck Haggart and the remnants of his mobsmen were surging in from the verandah, to put an end to The Shadow’s triumph!
CHAPTER XXII. DESPERATE STROKES
THE SHADOW had almost been taken by surprise. Weakened by his ordeal, holding up through nerve alone, he had lost his uncanny sense of judging moves by others. Though he had suspected that Jubal might come here, he had not anticipated so prompt an arrival.
The lieutenant must have placed his men aboard the motorboat.
Muffling of the engine had prevented the sound of its chugs from reaching the lodge. Landing down the point, Jubal had advanced for a surprise attack.
Intuitively, The Shadow had spotted danger; but his discovery of the menace had been belated. Realizing his fault, he was springing into action at a disadvantage. To counteract that condition, he took to the defensive.
Chuck Haggart, at the doorway, fired before The Shadow. So did two mobsmen, bulked beside their leader. They aimed for a fading target. The Shadow had whirled; traveling on a swift arc, he was swinging for the cover of the opened door to the cellar.
Slugs thudded that barrier. Wide shots from mobster guns. The Shadow cut suddenly in front of Chuck Haggart’s aim; but the barrier was now a refuge. Another bullet rammed the metal sheathing.
The Shadow’s automatics roared. One hand above the other, he opened fire from the edge of the metal door. Quick, zipping shots, aimed for the front doorway. One mobster sagged, still firing. Chuck and others blazed away, retreating. Another mobster fell.
Quick, yet intermittent stabs of guns. Shot for shot, The Shadow was driving the invaders back.
Mobsters were low on the verandah, dropping for the cover of the steps. The Shadow was clinging to his vantage post.
There was method in The Shadow’s action. He had three men upon whom he could count. He was trusting that they would show the proper aid. One — Harry or Vic — could hold the prisoners, while the other and Rex came into action against the mobsmen on the porch.
It was Cortland Laspar who balked The Shadow’s aids. He had been the first to realize what was up. As The Shadow whirled; as the bombardment began, Laspar took desperate action of his own. Closest to the three who held him and the other prisoners, Laspar leaped for the nearest guard.
THAT happened to be Harry Vincent. Pouncing upon The Shadow’s agent, Laspar gripped Harry’s arm and drove it upward. He and Harry grappled while staccato shots were marking The Shadow’s duel with Chuck Haggart’s mob.
Vic Marquette swung to aid Harry. The Secret Service man wanted to get Laspar; by dropping the arch-crook, he could weaken the cause of the underlings; moreover, he would bring Harry back into the fray. As Vic turned, Hoxon piled forward to seize the bearded operative.
Rex Brodford had his chance. A quick shot from his rifle would have finished Hoxon and enabled Marquette to down Laspar. But Rex fluked the chance. Swinging to aim at Hoxon, he delayed too long.
Before he could fire, the superintendent had grabbed Vic Marquette.
Then came confusion. Hoxon’s woodsmen sprang forward in a body. Rex went sprawling on the floor beneath their attack. Leaving Rex half stunned, the villains dove on, anxious to regain their revolvers from the floor.
Harry Vincent could have stopped them. He had wrenched his right arm from Laspar’s grasp. Holding the magnate at bay, Harry swung to cover the charging prisoners. Vic was all right; he was holding his own with Hoxon.
Harry did fire one shot that sprawled a woodsman, just as the fellow snatched up a gun. But before he could deliver a second bullet, Harry spotted a graver danger. Rex Brodford was trying to rise from the floor. Miguel was pouncing upon him.
Harry had frisked the fat Filipino. He had found Miguel’s gun. But from beneath his belt, the man had gained another weapon: a stout-bladed bolo.
Out to kill Rex Brodford, the Filipino was raising the vicious-looking knife. His arm was ready for a downstroke with the blade.
Forgetting the woodsmen, Harry aimed at Miguel. He fired as the Filipino started to stab. Miguel jolted forward; at the same instant a roar came from The Shadow’s vantage point. Miguel jounced up in the air and sprawled dead.
The Shadow, too, had spied the menace. He had swung wide of his protecting door to deliver a quick shot at Miguel. Harry had plugged the Filipino in the shoulder blade; The Shadow had found the villain’s heart.
Vic and Hoxon blundered against Harry. With a wrench, The Shadow’s agent sent Laspar sprawling headlong in a corner. Swinging his automatic, Harry clipped Hoxon’s skull. As the lumber superintendent collapsed. Harry shouted to Vic. Together, they leaped across the body of Miguel and surged in on the three woodsmen.
Those fellows had gained guns; but they had no chance to use them. Fiercely, Harry and Vic drove down gun arms and grappled with their desperate enemies. This was their job; to beat the break that the prisoners had made, while The Shadow kept up his battle with men outside. Harry and Vic were doing well.
They had failed, however, at the outset. Through their slip-up, they had done damage to The Shadow’s cause. In firing to save Rex Brodford, The Shadow had been forced to swing clear of his bulwark.
Mobsters had fired quickly from beyond the verandah. The Shadow had miraculously escaped their first hasty shots. But in swinging back to cover, he was too late. Chuck Haggart, aiming with precision, fired one shot at the fading form.
The mobleader’s bullet clipped The Shadow’s shoulder. A high, skimming shot, it failed to incapacitate the mighty fighter. But The Shadow staggered and sagged partially in his final twist.
Chuck gave a cry; leaping from the steps he dashed forward into the lodge, shouting his elation.
Chuck Haggart had followed a good stroke with a bad. He had reckoned too much upon the effectiveness of his aim. Had he remained where he was, he could have dropped The Shadow with a second sniping shot. But Chuck’s desire for closer range brought his own undoing.
As the mobleader burst through the door, The Shadow steadied on one knee. Chuck stopped short to aim pointblank; The Shadow fired while the mobleader was flat-footed. The aim was true. Chuck sprawled, his rod unfired.
Behind him, a last mobsman stopped, startled as the leader fell.
Again, The Shadow, though weakened, had advantage. The only unwounded gorilla made the same mistake as Chuck. He hesitated, wondering whether to dive back or to surge forward. He aimed mechanically and tried to fire. Again an automatic thundered in advance.
Flame from The Shadow’s gun spelled the mobster’s fate. Staggering, the final gunner toppled upon Chuck Haggart’s body.
Steady, despite his slowness, The Shadow had scored a double stroke. Propped upon the floor, using the door edge as a rest, the wearied fighter gave a hollow, tired laugh.