Gunmans Reckoning | Page 6

shooting body that plunged through the air above him. Lefty Joe dug his left elbow into
the floor of the car and whirled back upon his shoulders, bunching his knees high over his
stomach. Nine chances out of ten, if Donnegan had fallen flatwise upon this alert enemy,
he would have received those knees in the pit of his own stomach and instantly been
paralyzed. But in the jumping, rattling car even Donnegan was capable of making
mistakes. His mistake in this instance saved his life, for springing too far, he came down
not in reaching distance of Lefty's throat, but with his chest on the knees of the older
tramp.
As a result, Donnegan was promptly kicked head over heels and tumbled the length of the

car. Lefty was on his feet and plunging after the tumbling form in the twinkling of an eye,
literally speaking, and he was only kept from burying his knife in the flesh of his foe by a
sway of the car that staggered him in the act of striking. Donnegan, the next instant, was
beyond reach. He had struck the end of the car and rebounded like a ball of rubber at a
tangent. He slid into the shadows, and Lefty, putting his own shoulders to the wall, felt
for his revolver and knew that he was lost. He had failed in his first surprise attack, and
without surprise to help him now he was gone. He weighed his revolver, decided that it
would be madness to use it, for if he missed, Donnegan would instantly be guided by the
flash to shoot him full of holes.
Something slipped by the open door--something that glimmered faintly; and Lefty Joe
knew that it was the red head of Donnegan. Donnegan, soft-footed as a shadow among
shadows. Donnegan on a blood trail. It lowered the heartbeat of Lefty Joe to a
tremendous, slow pulse. In that moment he gave up hope and, resigning himself to die,
determined to fight to the last gasp, as became one of his reputation and national celebrity
on "the road."
Yet Lefty Joe was no common man and no common fighter. No, let the shade of Rusty
Dick, whom Lefty met and beat in his glorious prime--let this shade arise and speak for
the prowess of Lefty Joe. In fact it was because he was such a good fighter himself that
he recognized his helplessness in the hands of Donnegan.
The faint glimmer of color had passed the door. It was dissolved in deeper shadows at
once, and soundlessly; Lefty knew that Donnegan was closer and closer.
Of one thing he felt more and more confident, that Donnegan did not have his revolver
with him. Otherwise, he would have used it before. For what was darkness to this devil,
Donnegan. He walked like a cat, and most likely he could see like a cat in the dark.
Instinctively the older tramp braced himself with his right hand held at a guard before his
breast and the knife poised in his left, just as a man would prepare to meet the attack of a
panther. He even took to probing the darkness in a strange hope to catch the glimmer of
the eyes of Donnegan as he moved to the attack. If there were a hair's breadth of light,
then Donnegan himself must go down. A single blow would do it.
But the devil had instructed his favorite Donnegan how to fight. He did not come lunging
through the shadows to meet the point of that knife. Instead, he had worked a snaky way
along the floor and now he leaped in and up at Lefty, taking him under the arms.
A dozen hands, it seemed, laid hold on Lefty. He fought like a demon and tore himself
away, but the multitude of hands pursued him. They were small hands. Where they
closed they tore the clothes and bit into his very flesh. Once a hand had him by the throat,
and when Lefty jerked himself away it was with a feeling that his flesh had been seared
by five points of red-hot iron. All this time his knife was darting; once it ripped through
cloth, but never once did it find the target. And half a second later Donnegan got his hold.
The flash of the knife as Lefty raised it must have guided the other. He shot his right hand
up behind the left shoulder of the other and imprisoned the wrist. Not only did it make the
knife hand helpless, but by bearing down with his own weight Donnegan could put his

enemy in most exquisite torture.
For an instant they whirled; then they went down, and Lefty was on top. Only for a
moment. The impetus which had sent