"Drop them, Patsy!" he shouted, instantly. "Shoot to kill! It's them or
us!"
"Let her go, Gallagher!" roared Patsy, pulling both guns.
Then, amid the tumult of the breaking tempest outside, there began a
fusillade the thunder of which rivaled that of the night, and which,
though comparatively brief, was as fast and furious as any man there had
ever experienced.
Pylotte went down at the first shot from Chick, however, with a bullet
in his brain.
Then shot followed shot with lightning rapidity.
Both detectives sprang down several stairs to evade the rain of lead,
for both Kilgore and Stall were rapidly emptying two revolvers.
A bullet singed Patsy's ear.
Another dislodged Chick's hat.
Then Kilgore reeled with a slight wound in his left arm.
A score of shots were fired and wasted, meantime, for all hands were
dodging about the hall and stairs in an utterly indescribable fashion.
It was the warmest kind of a fight for fully three minutes.
Then Chick got a line on Matt Stall from behind the baluster post, and
dropped him with a ragged wound in his hip.
Stall fell with a yell of rage and pain, and Kilgore found himself
alone, and against odds.
He turned like a flash, and darted out of the rear door of the house.
Pages:
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200