Quick thoughts flashed through Harry’s brain. If they fired now, most of their shots would go wide. If they waited, they would be at too close quarters. They would be able to do some damage; but could they resist a charge from those hordes?
HARRY’S hesitation ended. He suddenly saw merit in opening the attack. It was a desperate chance, but it seemed the only one.
“Give them everything we’ve got!” ordered Harry. “Plug away full speed. With four pistols going, we can make them think they’re up against a gang. Catch them while they still have a chance to go back. Then they may scatter!”
“Good,” agreed Carter. “I’ll take the bunch on the right. Let’s go!”
“Shoot!” ordered Harry.
The four automatics barked as the two defenders opened a vicious fire. The repeated flashes from the door of the cabin were followed by loud echoes from the trees.
The result was instantaneous. The rows of men dropped with one accord. Flat on the ground, they began to return the volley.
Stacks Lodi saw his men wavering. One gangster had been clipped, and was groaning on the ground. But Stacks showed a remarkable keenness in the face of this unexpected burst.
“There’s only two of them!” he shouted, his voice audible above the barking revolvers of his men. “Give them the works!”
The encouragement rallied the gangsters. It passed to Twister Edmonds’ crew. There, two men were down to stay; the others were almost on the point of flight. But the sight of Lodi’s mob holding its ground was all that they needed.
The volley from the doorway had ended with the suddenness that had marked its beginning. Harry Vincent’s plan had failed. Bullets were zimming against the sides of the cabin. With one accord, Harry and Carter flung themselves back in the big room.
“Reload!” was Harry’s command.
Carter groaned as he started to obey. Through the crack of the door, he could see one row of invaders rising.
A mighty shout came from the edges of the clearing. Both Stacks and Twister had figured the trouble; two warriors within the cabin, ammunition spent. A rapid charge was starting from both sides!
Harry could see the attackers through the window. He understood Carter’s groan. They were helpless, now that the ruse had failed. The attack seemed destined to end in massacre.
Then, above the shouts of the men rising for the charge, Harry heard the roaring booms of two cannon-like guns. Reload in hand, he stopped in momentary stupor. Those shots were coming from a bulging curve in the clearing, midway between the two advancing lines.
Gangsters began to sprawl upon the rough turf. Terrific bursts of flame, with roaring echoes, signaled the entry of a new contestant. As he saw the invaders toppling, first from one line, then from the other, Harry sensed the answer.
The Shadow!
FROM the projecting stretch of woods, the master of darkness was delivering an enfilade. His well-directed shots were speeding leaden messengers directly along the lines. He was not shooting at individuals; he was aiming into groups of men!
One fighter was succeeding where two had failed. The Shadow had withheld the power of his .45s until his enemies were completely at his mercy. With four automatics, two in hands and two beneath his cloak, he had reserve ammunition sufficient to wipe out the dastardly crew!
The proper type of fire proved Harry Vincent’s theory. The advancing gangsters took to spreading flight. Half of them had fallen; the others were rushing away from the hidden menace. Men were sagging as they fled.
Only the mad break for safety saved the mobsters from annihilation. Some who had dropped were dead; others were wounded. But as the remainder became scattered targets, The Shadow’s shots lessened in rapidity. A few pitiful enemies reached the woods and plunged into the underbrush.
Hub Rowley, alone, put up a stout effort to foil The Shadow. Back in the edge of the woods, he could see the flashes of The Shadow’s guns. The big shot dropped behind a large rock and opened fire toward the bursts of flame. But although he prided himself as a marksman, he could not make a hit.
The Shadow, crouched in the darkness, swaying, moving, turning, was never in the same place twice. Hub was still firing as the few escaping mobsmen plunged to safety; and it was then that The Shadow proved his ability to do what Hub could not.
The flashes burst in Hub’s direction. Picking a blind target, The Shadow aimed with amazing precision. Had it not been for the big rock, the first of the bullets would have found its mark.
Large slivers of rock chipped away as The Shadow’s bullets smashed against Hub’s natural barricade. These death messengers from nowhere clicked their threat of doom. Dropping to the ground, Hub crawled rapidly away through the brush, keeping constantly beyond the rock. He had no desire to wait until The Shadow had moved to deliver a fire from the side.
Seeing The Shadow’s shots directed into the woods, Harry and Carter supposed that he was driving off reinforcements. With their reloading finished, they sallied forth across the clearing. A few wild shots came from wounded gangsters in the open area. Seeing this, they covered the men and approached to disarm them.
WITH this work finished, Harry and Carter again turned toward the woods. The Shadow’s fire had ceased. They did not know what might have happened. By common decision, both defenders hurried toward the woods. They could hear plunging gangsters in the darkness, and they fired rapid shots to encourage the flight.
“Hold it!” ordered Harry suddenly. “We’d better get over to the side of the cabin by the hill. Maybe there are others up there!”
At the cabin, they separated. Harry swung around one side; Carter took the other. They met on the side toward the hill.
“All clear here,” declared Harry. “Come on — we’ll go back.”
As Harry went around the side of the cabin, Carter turned to follow. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a man springing suddenly to his feet. He had been close to the cabin wall.
Before Carter could raise his revolver the man was a dozen yards away, dashing toward the hillside. As Carter aimed, the fugitive threw a hunted glance over his shoulder. Carter’s finger trembled on his trigger. A wild exclamation came from his lips as his hand dropped to his side.
The cry brought Harry Vincent from the corner of the house. It was a second before Harry caught sight of the running man whom Carter had failed to stop. Impulsively, Harry fired three shots at the fugitive; but the range was too great. The runner kept on like a frightened deer, and gained the upward-sloping woods.
“Why didn’t you get him?” demanded Harry.
“I–I couldn’t,” blurted Carter.
“Where did he come from?” questioned Harry angrily. “When did you see him?”
“He popped up right here,” answered Carter. “He had gone a dozen yards before I had a chance to fire.”
“But you didn’t shoot.”
“I–I couldn’t. I was going to — then he turned his head, and I saw his face in the moonlight.”
“His face? How did that matter? This is no time to worry when you see a face—”
Harry stopped short. Carter Boswick, pale in countenance, was slumped against the wall of the cabin. His gun was almost falling from his hand.
“What’s the matter, old top?” asked Harry, in a tone of anxiety. “He didn’t get you, did he?”
“No,” murmured Carter, in a weak voice. “But I–I nearly got him. I couldn’t do it, though, when I saw him. Harry, when I recognized him, I forgot all about enmities. I couldn’t — couldn’t think of him as being one of the crowd that came to murder us.”
“You recognized him?” exclaimed Harry. “Who was he?”
“A man whom I had hoped was on the square,” said Carter solemnly. “Harry, that fellow was my cousin, Drew Westling!”