The raid was fifteen minutes ahead of schedule time. The
ward politician had betrayed him. He felt sure of it. All the
carefully prepared plans agreed upon he jettisoned promptly. His sole
thought was to save himself, not to trap his rival.
Lindsay caught him by the arm. "Let's try the back room."
He followed Clay, Durand's gangmen at his heels.
The lights went out.
The Westerner tried the window. It was heavily barred outside. He
turned to search for a door.
Brought up by the partition, Bromfield was whimpering with fear as he
too groped for a way of escape. A pale moon shone through the window
upon his evening clothes.
In the dim light Clay knew that tragedy impended. "Slim" Jim had his
automatic out.
"I've got you good," the chauffeur snarled.
The gun cracked. Bromfield bleated in frenzied terror as Clay dashed
forward. A chair swung round in a sweeping arc. As it descended the
spitting of the gun slashed through the darkness a second time.
"Slim" Jim went down, rolled over, lay like a log.
Some one dived for Lindsay and drove him against the wall, pinning him
by the waist. A second figure joined the first and caught the
cattleman's wrist.
Then the lights flashed on again. Clay saw that the man who had flung
him against the partition was Gorilla Dave. A plain-clothes man with a
star had twisted his wrist and was clinging to it. Bromfield was
nowhere to be seen, but an open door to the left showed that he had
found at least a temporary escape.
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