that had fallen out of the holster as the man fell and
put it into his pouch. He considered the two, and decided they would be
no menace.

"Okay, Sheila," he called out, trying to muffle his voice. "We got them
all."

"Pie-Face?" Her voice was doubtful.

He considered what a man out here who went under that name might be
like. "Sure, baby. Open up!"

"Wait a minute. I've got this nailed shut." There was the sound of an
effort of some kind going on as she talked. "Though I ought to let you
stay out there and rot. Damn it ... uh!"

The door heaved open then, and she appeared in it; then she saw him, and
her jaw dropped open slackly. "You!"

"Me," he agreed. "And lucky for you, Cuddles."

Her hand streaked to a gun in her belt. "Kill him!"

This time, he didn't wait to be attacked. He went for the door, knocking
her aside. His knee caught the outside of her hip as she spun; she fell
over, dropping the gun.

The two men in the room were both holding knives, but in the ridiculous
overhand position that seems to be an ingrained stupidity of the human
race, until it's taught better. A single flip of his locust club against
their wrists accounted for both of the knives. He grabbed them by the
hair of their heads, then, and brought the two skulls together savagely.

Sheila lay stretched out on the floor, where her head had apparently
struck against the leg of a bed. Gordon shoved the bodies of the two men
aside and looked down at the wreck of a man who lay on the dirty
blanket. "Hello, O'Neill," he said.

The former leader of the Stonewall gang stared up at the club swinging
from Gordon's wrist. "You ain't gonna beat me this time? I'm a sick man.
Sick. Can't hurt nobody. Don't beat me again."

Gordon's stomach knotted sickly. Doing something under the pressure of
necessity was one thing; but to see the sorry results of it later was
another. "All right," he said. "Just stay there until I get away from
this rat's nest and I won't hit you. I won't even touch you."

He was sure enough that it was no act on O'Neill's part; he wasn't so
sure about Sheila. He checked the two men on the floor, who were still
out cold. Then he stepped through the door carefully, to make sure that
the big bruiser hadn't come back.

His ears barely detected the sound Sheila made as she reached for the
knife of one of the men. Then it came--the faintest catch of breath.
Gordon threw himself flat to the floor. She let out a scream as he saw