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Page 21
With an oath, Terrill tried to rise and face his antagonist,
reaching for his revolver as he did so. The butt of his weapon
had caught in the arm of the chair hampering his movements.
McKee threw him roughly back into the chair.
"Throw up your han's," he cried. "Don't try that."
Up went Terrill's hands high over his head. He faced the open
window. Not a sign of help was in sight.
Quickly the agent turned over in his mind various schemes to foil
McKee, who now stood behind him with the muzzle of his revolver
pressing into the middle of his back. Each was rejected before
half-conceived.
McKee laughed sneeringly, saying: "You oughtn't to be so keerless
to show where you cache your roll. Worse than a senorita with a
stocking. She never keeps a whole pair when Manuel is playing
faro."
Terrill made no reply. His hope of escape was slowly fading.
McKee had reached his left hand over his prisoner's shoulder to
disarm Terrill, who moved slightly away from him, drawing in his
feet as he did so.
One chance had come to him. He knew that, if he failed, death
was certain, yet he determined to take the risk in order to
retrieve the slip he had made in admitting that he had money in
his possession to a gambling crony; and so to keep clean his
record for trustiness, of which he was so proud. This last
desperate resource was an old wrestler's trick; one with which he
had conquered others in the rough games of the corral.
Again Terrill moved to the right and farther under McKee, who had
to extend his arm and body far beyond an upright position.
Holding his revolver against Terrill handicapped the half-breed
in his movements.
With a quick turn, Terrill grasped McKee's left arm, jerking it
down sharply on his shoulder. With his right hand he grasped the
back of his antagonist's neck, pulling his head downward and
inward. Using his shoulder for a fulcrum, with a mighty heave of
his legs and back he sought to toss McKee over his head.
So surprised for an instant was the cowboy by suddenness of the
attack that he made no effort escape the clutches of the
desperate express-agent.
His feet had left the floor, and he was swinging in the air
before his finger pressed the trigger.
There was a muffled report.
The two men fell in a heap on the floor, McKee on top. Dazed and
shaken, McKee scrambled to his feet. The air was pungent with
odor of powder smoke. Terrill rolled over on his side, trembled
convulsively, and died. He had paid the penalty for a moment's
indiscretion with his life.
McKee quickly unfastened the pin and seized the roll of bills.
Skimming through the package, he smiled with satisfaction to see
that the most of it was in small bills, and none of them stained.
Carefully avoiding the fast-forming pool of blood which was
oozing from the hole in the dead man's head, he hurried to the
door.
A glance showed him the coast was clear. Running across the
tracks, he joined Lane, who was waiting for him behind the
freight-car with impatience. In silence they mounted their
horses. For a short distance McKee led the way upon the
railroad-track, in order to leave no hoof-prints, and then struck
across the desert toward the hills in the south.
"Why did you shoot?" gasped Lane.
"He drew on me," snarled McKee. "It wasn't Dick's money, but
you'll get half. Shut up."
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