Yet, as he said nothing, the attention of the
others had turned from him.
Jeff Moore happened to turn just in time to see the muzzle of the
shotgun turned fully on Tom Reade's waist line, and Ashby's forefinger
resting on one of the triggers.
Bang! spoke the gun, a sheet of flame leaped forth.
Tom Reade did not even start. All his nerve had come to the surface in
that instant. He was unharmed, for Jeff's sweeping arm had knocked
aside the muzzle of the gun and the shot had entered the leg of one of
the raiders.
"What'd you do that for, Jeff?" groaned the injured man, sinking to the
alkali dust.
But Moore was busy with the mad hotel keeper, having clinched with him,
and now being engaged in taking away the shotgun, one barrel of which
was still loaded.
"Stand back there, friends," warned Rafe Bodson, who still held his
revolver in his right hand. "We don't want to see any more of the party
hurt."
Jeff had the gun in a moment, despite the insane fury with which Ashby
fought.
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