up, his mouth open in surprise. Angelina tried to scramble away, but the man grabbed her and hauled her roughly to her feet, one thick arm around her waist, holding her as a shield.
Durell stepped out between the cabins.
"Let her loose, Slago!"
The man cursed in a gravelly voice. Jake Moon came to the door of his bar and hastily retreated again. Slago began pushing Angelina ahead of him across the open area, advancing toward the Cadillac. Durell took a step and then there was movement behind him and he glimpsed a man behind him, arm upraised, a gun reversed in his hand. He took the blow on his shoulder as he turned, and felt the pain jolt down into his gun hand. He couldn't hold the gun. It fell into the dust and he went down to one knee, still turning, and grabbed for a hold on the man who had surprised him.
It was Mark Fleming. Durell got his arm up to partially block a second blow. The thought flickered through his mind that he had been too intent on Slago and Angelina, and he knew the penalty of carelessness. He tried to get up, but Fleming kicked him expertly, his heel cracking on Durell's chest. Durell went over backward, got to his hands and knees, and drove for the gun he had dropped. Fleming kicked it away.
"Copper?" Fleming breathed.
His gun was coming up, not reversed now. Then a screen door slammed, and from the corner of his eye Durell saw Erich Corbin and a blonde girl come out quickly, moving toward the Cadillac. Slago had Angelina's arm twisted up behind her back, running her toward the car, too. They were going to get away.
There was no sign of Joe Tibault.
"Get up, mister," Fleming said. His voice, in his boyish face, seemed harsh. His gun was a Colt .38. "Get up, quick."
Durell stood. His mind raced, assessing the situation. Corbin shouted to Slago; the blonde girl was already in the car. They were pulling out. He suddenly knew they would take Angelina witn them as a hostage, if they could. Corbin was throwing a suitcase into the car. Angelina's safety took precedence over other factors at the moment. In other circumstances he might have sacrificed her, as he had been trained and conditioned to do. But not now; the issue was not that desperate.
He went for Fleming's gun. Fleming was careful, but not careful enough, and Durell almost made it.
He chopped the gun from Fleming's fingers. His foot caught Fleming's knee and the man screamed and spun about and went down. At the same moment, Angelina broke loose and ran, twisting out of Slago's reach. She was heading back to the bar, where the other customers stood frozen in fear. Corbin yelled to Slago to forget the girl and the chunky man hesitated, then ran toward the Cadillac. Fleming got to his feet. Durell hit him across the bridge of his nose, hit him again in the stomach, and Fleming reeled back, arms flailing, and smashed into the car. Durell was almost there when the blonde jumped out. He didn't see what she had in her hand. There was no time. For an instant, he allowed his glance to be diverted toward Angelina, running for the oar. She was almost there.
Something struck the side of his head. At the same time, the Cadillac started with a lurch, backing out between the cabins. The rear tires spun savagely and spit gravel over him in a stinging spray. He jumped aside, his head still ringing from whatever the girl had hit him with. She had slipped between the cabins and as Durell jumped, he felt the sleek fender of the car rip at his leg. It felt as if something had grabbed him and flung him bodily against the cabin wall. The scene reeled away into a misty darkness. He was on his hands and knees in the dust, shaking his head, dimly aware that the Cadillac had stopped, that the girl and Slago were helping Fleming into the back seat.
Durell tried to get up. His gun, and Fleming's, still glittered in the gravel, twenty feet away. He heard the roar of the car's motor and felt gritty dust between his teeth, and then the roaring car swung toward the
Durell stepped out between the cabins.
"Let her loose, Slago!"
The man cursed in a gravelly voice. Jake Moon came to the door of his bar and hastily retreated again. Slago began pushing Angelina ahead of him across the open area, advancing toward the Cadillac. Durell took a step and then there was movement behind him and he glimpsed a man behind him, arm upraised, a gun reversed in his hand. He took the blow on his shoulder as he turned, and felt the pain jolt down into his gun hand. He couldn't hold the gun. It fell into the dust and he went down to one knee, still turning, and grabbed for a hold on the man who had surprised him.
It was Mark Fleming. Durell got his arm up to partially block a second blow. The thought flickered through his mind that he had been too intent on Slago and Angelina, and he knew the penalty of carelessness. He tried to get up, but Fleming kicked him expertly, his heel cracking on Durell's chest. Durell went over backward, got to his hands and knees, and drove for the gun he had dropped. Fleming kicked it away.
"Copper?" Fleming breathed.
His gun was coming up, not reversed now. Then a screen door slammed, and from the corner of his eye Durell saw Erich Corbin and a blonde girl come out quickly, moving toward the Cadillac. Slago had Angelina's arm twisted up behind her back, running her toward the car, too. They were going to get away.
There was no sign of Joe Tibault.
"Get up, mister," Fleming said. His voice, in his boyish face, seemed harsh. His gun was a Colt .38. "Get up, quick."
Durell stood. His mind raced, assessing the situation. Corbin shouted to Slago; the blonde girl was already in the car. They were pulling out. He suddenly knew they would take Angelina witn them as a hostage, if they could. Corbin was throwing a suitcase into the car. Angelina's safety took precedence over other factors at the moment. In other circumstances he might have sacrificed her, as he had been trained and conditioned to do. But not now; the issue was not that desperate.
He went for Fleming's gun. Fleming was careful, but not careful enough, and Durell almost made it.
He chopped the gun from Fleming's fingers. His foot caught Fleming's knee and the man screamed and spun about and went down. At the same moment, Angelina broke loose and ran, twisting out of Slago's reach. She was heading back to the bar, where the other customers stood frozen in fear. Corbin yelled to Slago to forget the girl and the chunky man hesitated, then ran toward the Cadillac. Fleming got to his feet. Durell hit him across the bridge of his nose, hit him again in the stomach, and Fleming reeled back, arms flailing, and smashed into the car. Durell was almost there when the blonde jumped out. He didn't see what she had in her hand. There was no time. For an instant, he allowed his glance to be diverted toward Angelina, running for the oar. She was almost there.
Something struck the side of his head. At the same time, the Cadillac started with a lurch, backing out between the cabins. The rear tires spun savagely and spit gravel over him in a stinging spray. He jumped aside, his head still ringing from whatever the girl had hit him with. She had slipped between the cabins and as Durell jumped, he felt the sleek fender of the car rip at his leg. It felt as if something had grabbed him and flung him bodily against the cabin wall. The scene reeled away into a misty darkness. He was on his hands and knees in the dust, shaking his head, dimly aware that the Cadillac had stopped, that the girl and Slago were helping Fleming into the back seat.
Durell tried to get up. His gun, and Fleming's, still glittered in the gravel, twenty feet away. He heard the roar of the car's motor and felt gritty dust between his teeth, and then the roaring car swung toward the
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