... Haney bent down and picked up four good throwing stones.
His expression was pained.

Joe said: "We've got pistols, Haney, and Sally's a good shot."

The men came on. Their manner was elaborately casual. Joe stepped up
into view.

"No visitors!" he called. "We don't want company!"

One of the men held his hand to his ear, as if not understanding. They
came on. They made no threatening gestures.

Then Joe took his hand out of his pocket, the pistol Sally'd given him
gripped tightly.

"I mean that!" he said harshly. "Stand back!"

One of the three spoke sharply. On that instant three snub-nosed pistols
appeared. Bullets whined as the men hurtled forward. The purpose was not
so much murder at this moment as the demoralizing effect of bullets
flying overhead while the three assassins got close enough to do their
bloody job with precision.

A stone whizzed by Joe--Haney had thrown it--and the small target rifle
in Mike's hands coughed twice. Joe held his fire. He had only six
bullets and three targets to hit. With a familiar revolver he'd have
started shooting now, but thirty yards is a long range with a strange
pistol at a moving target.

One of the three killers stumbled and crashed to the ground. A second
seemed suddenly to be grinning widely on one side of his face. A .22
bullet had slashed his cheek. The third ran head on into a rock thrown
by Haney. It knocked the breath out of him and his pistol fell from his
hand.

Joe fired deliberately at the widely grinning man and saw him spin
around. Mike's target rifle spat again and the man Joe had hit wheeled
and ran heavily, making incoherent yells. The one who'd tumbled
scrambled to his feet and fled, hopping crazily, favoring one leg.
Deserted, the third man turned and ran too, still doubled over and still
gasping.

Mike's voice crackled. He was in a towering rage because of the way the
target rifle shot. It threw high and to the right. The shooting gallery
paid off in cigarettes for high scores--so the guns didn't shoot
straight.

Until this moment Joe had been relatively calm, because he had something
to do. But just then he heard Sally say "Oh!" in a queer voice. He
whirled. Unknown to him, she had not been waiting under cover, but
standing with her pistol out and ready. And her face was very white, and
she was plucking at her hair. A strand came away in her fingers. A
bullet had clipped it just above her shoulder.

Then Joe went sick ... weak ... t