toward him. Suddenly White-Eye coughed
and staggered against the table. With his last shot The Spider dropped
White-Eye, then jerked a second gun from his waistband. Gary, kneeling
behind the faro table, fired over its top. The Spider whirled
half-round, recovered himself, and, sidling toward the table, threw
down on the kneeling man, who sank forward coughing horribly. Within
eight feet of him The Spider's gun roared again. Gary's body jerked
stiff at the shock and then slowly collapsed. The fourth man,
Longtree, with his hands above his head, begged The Spider not to kill
his old pal! The Spider's face, horribly distorted, venomous as a
snake's, colorless and glistening with sweat, twisted queerly as he
spoke: "Kill you, you damned coyote?" And he shot Longtree down as a
man would shoot a trapped wolf.

Framed in the office doorway stood Pony Baxter, a blue automatic in his
hand. The Spider, leaning against the roulette table, laughed. "Gave
me the double-cross, eh, Pony? How do you like the layout?" He swayed
and clutched at the table. "Don't kill me, Pony!" he cried, in ghastly
mimickry of Longtree's voice. "Don't kill an old pal, Pony!" And the
sound of his voice was lost in the blunt roar of a shot that loosened
Baxter's fingers from the automatic. It clattered to the floor.
Baxter braced himself against the door-frame and, turning, staggered to
the desk 'phone.

The Spider nodded to the faro-dealer. "Close your cases," he said, and
he hiccoughed and spat viciously. "Get me downstairs--I'm done."

The dealer, who possessed plenty of nerve himself, was dumb with wonder
that this man, who had deliberately walked into a fight against three
fast guns, was still on his feet. Yet he realized that The Spider had
made his last fight. He was hard hit. "God, what a mess!" said the
dealer as he took The Spider's arm and steadied him to the office.
"You better lay down," he suggested.

"Got a cab downstairs. General Hospital."

The driver, who had been taking a nap inside the cab, heard the sound
of shooting, started up, threw back the lap-robe, and stepped to the
sidewalk. He listened, trying to count the shots. Then came silence.
Then another shot. He was aware that his best policy was to leave that
neighborhood quickly. Yet curiosity held him, and finally drew him
toward the dimly lighted stairway. He wondered what had happened.

"Cab?" somebody called from above. The cabby answered.