The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico Part 44

"I deny ever having tried to put up a game on--"

"Master Tad, did you ever see these men before?"

They turned on the lad quickly. Neither man had previously observed him.

"Yes, sir."

"Where?"

"On the train, as you mentioned just now."

"And they were plotting my life?"

"So it seemed to me, sir."

"What have you to say to that?" demanded Mr. Marquand.

"That the boy lies!"

Tad's face flushed angrily.

"That'll do," said Marquand, more quietly.

"Then you believe him--you do not believe me?"

"I believe him. I know he has told me the truth. Now, it isn't necessary to explain to you. You deserve no explanation and you'll get none further than what you already have."

"But--"

"No 'buts' about it. I said I was done with you. Now, I want you to get out of my sight! You're a couple of rogues--so crooked that you can't walk straight."

Bob Lasar's face had grown livid with rage. His anger was rapidly getting beyond all bounds. Tad observed it and saw the storm coming.

It arrived a moment later when Lasar whipped out a revolver.

Before Mr. Marquand could make a move to draw his own weapon Bob had aimed his weapon and pulled the trigger.

Tad, instantly divining the purpose of the man when he saw his hand fly to the pistol holster under his coat, sprang forward.

There was a deafening report. A bullet buried itself in the ceiling of the room.

Tad had struck up the desperado's arm just in the nick of time, thus preventing a terrible crime. But the end was not yet. There were five more bullets in the cylinder of the weapon, as the lad knew full well.

He grabbed Lasar's arm, hanging on desperately, at the same time trying to get a wrestling hold.

The weapon went off again, this time sending a bullet into the floor.

"Look out for the other fellow!" shouted Tad.

Mr. Marquand already had done so. Comstock had just made an attempt to draw his own weapon when Marquand threw himself upon the man. The two went crashing to the floor, while Tad and Lasar were battling all over the room, the latter's weapon barking viciously every little while.

Lasar was much more powerful than his slender antagonist, but Tad being very quick on his feet managed to keep out of the way of the revolver and at the same time to avoid being thrown.

Suddenly, the boy gave the gun-hand of his opponent a quick twist.

Lasar uttered a sharp exclamation of pain. The revolver clattered to the floor.

Quick as a flash, Tad threw a leg behind the knee of his antagonist, gave it a quick jerk, with the result that Lasar went to the floor with great violence.

By this time, occupants of the hotel were running down the hall, while others were hammering at the door. Lasar had turned the key upon entering the room.

Those within did not have time to listen to the demands of those in the hall, who were demanding admission.

Mr. Marquand, as soon as he got his opponent down, quickly disarmed him.

"Get up!" he commanded. "I don't want to kill you. I ought to do so, but I won't."

He sprang from Comstock, and jerking Tad from Lasar, whom the lad was making heroic efforts to hold down, pulled the fallen rascal to his feet.

"Get out, both of you!" he commanded, covering both his visitors with his weapon.

Lasar, in struggling to his feet, reached for his revolver.

"Drop it or I'll fill you full of lead!"

At that instant, the door burst open and half a dozen men sprang into the room.

Lasar, seeing that he was caught, leaped through the open window. He was followed closely by Comstock. He, too, made a clean leap, landing on the soft ground below.

"What's the meaning of this shooting?" shouted the proprietor, his face flushed with anger.

"Two men tried to murder me," replied Marquand coolly.

"It looks as though you were doing your share of it," snapped the proprietor, noting his guest's belligerent att.i.tude and drawn weapon.

Just then three shots in quick succession were fired from the outside.

Two of the bullets narrowly missed some of the men, who had forced their way into the room.

As the third shot was fired, Tad threw one hand to his head; then drew it away grinning.

"Those rascals have evidently gotten a new supply of fire arms," he said.

A bullet had gone through his hair and his scalp burned where the lead had brushed it.

All of the newcomers drew their revolvers and sprang to the window.

"Don't shoot!" cried the Pony Rider Boy; "You'll hit the wrong one.

There are a hundred people down there."