"Yes; you hit Jeff. I'll take care of Rafe!"
Just then darkness fell upon the gambler. He was knocked flat and
senseless by a blow of a fist from behind.
In the same instant a man leaped upon George Ashby, bearing him to
earth.
Bang! The noise of the discharging shotgun broke on the night's
stillness. Bang! crashed the other barrel.
The muzzle had been pointed skyward, however, and both charges of
buckshot had been driven off into space, to fall to the earth many yards
beyond.
"Reade! Hazelton!" choked Rafe Bodson, leaping forward. "You fellows
certainly have grit! Here, Hazelton, let me help you with that loco
(crazy) hotel man."
Jeff, in the meantime had rolled Jim Duff over on his back, then sat on
him. When Duff returned to consciousness he found himself gazing into
the muzzle of an automatic revolver.
Harry and Bodson made a quick, sure job of tying Ashby's wrists with a
cord that Rafe supplied.
"You think you've stopped me, don't you?" snarled the hotel man, wild
with rage.
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