"Now hustle," ordered Duff. "You pick up Hazelton. I'll take Reade.
Carry 'em over your shoulder--that's the way to do. Now, follow me and
don't make a sound. We'll please ourselves this night with what we'll do
to the meddling pair!"

With Tom Reade over his shoulder, senseless and inert, Duff started off
in the darkness, while the rattle of firearms continued.

George Ashby, muttering to himself, followed with Harry Hazelton.

The gambler staggered slightly under the weight of his human burden. Yet
he moved rapidly, a strange eagerness lighting up his eyes.

Jim Duff knew that he would never again dare to enter the town of
Paloma, yet the gambler thirsted, before fleeing to new scenes, to be
revenged on Tom Reade. With that object in view, Duff was willing to
take great risks.

As for Ashby, who, still clutching his shotgun in his left hand,
staggered along under the burden of Hazelton's weight, the hotel man was
no longer responsible for his actions. Rage and wickedness had made him
a maniac, who might be restrained but could not be punished by law.

Within two minutes the firing behind them died out. Soon there were
distant sounds of searching. Plainly Hawkins and the other friends of
the young engineers were hunting diligently for Tom and Harry.

"Dump your man, Ashby," commanded Jim Duff, halting at last. "It will
be a mistake to go too far. Their friends won't expect to find 'em so
close, and they'll soon be searching farther away."

So Ashby dropped Harry on to the sand beside Tom. Then the wickedest
possible gleam came into the hotel man's eyes as he loaded his shotgun.

"We'll fill 'em full of lead right here and now," whispered the hotel
keeper. "Then we'll be sure that they can't get away from us again."

"Not so fast!" retorted Duff warningly. "We can't shoot now. If we do,
there'll be no way to get out of this alive. Look yonder!"

Duff swung his mad friend around, pointing to a gleam of light that
shone out over the desert.

"An automobile," muttered the gambler. "And there's another--and
another! There must be six or eight of them out to-night, and all of 'em
crammed with fighting men. A shot would bring two or three carloads of
ugly fellows down upon us."

"What are we going to do, then?" demanded the hotel keeper, in a
menacing tone.

"Wait awhile," urged the gambler. "You're seeing what the plan of the
enemy is. They're circling about, but they're further out from the gully
than we a