Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 272 by Maxwel l Grant

Author:Maxwel,l Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

CHAPTER XI

BLAZE OF DOOM

TWO guns stabbed from the loading yard, the opening shots in this fray where massed strife threatened permanent disposal of an individual. Harry recognized The Shadow's guns; they were beating all others to the shot. Two stabs that clipped a brace of foemen, the nearest and most dangerous.

But two weren't two dozen.

Harry was swinging his own gun for a thug's head, to add one to The Shadow's score. At least it would help toward vengeance. For as Harry swung, he

heard The Shadow's automatics speak again, only to be drowned by the huge roar of the platform revolvers.

It was all over with The Shadow.

So Harry thought, as his swing landed home, staggering one crook as the fellow fired. He'd packed it hard, that swing, still it shouldn't have shaken the platform the way it did. Wheeling about to look for another head, Harry couldn't find any.

No wonder he'd felt the platform quake!

Crooks by the dozen were sprawling in tune with Harry's stroke, but he wasn't the cause of it. He'd accounted for one; others had taken the rest.

With

the first bursts of The Shadow's guns, the side of Cliff's truck had broken wide

disgorging a flood of agents who opened like a spreading V.

That V stood for five.

Along with Cliff and Clyde were two others. One was Miles Crofton, a capable fighter who had often served The Shadow. Another was Hawkeye, a pint-sized fellow who acted as Cliff's side-kick. But size wasn't the real index

to Hawkeye's fighting quality, unless his half quart was measured in terms of wild cats.

They came with a surge, those four, each slugging down a crook and then going after more. Their attack was in the nature of a complete surprise.

Seeing

only two men in the truck, the crooks hadn't expected a thrust from that quarter. But that was only half the story.

The fifth man supplied the rest. He was the other fork of the V and he packed the power of a flying wedge. He was a giant African named Jericho Druke,

whose ways of battle were unique. It was Jericho who had ejected three invaders

from the back of the truck; now, in the open, he was showing how he could duplicate a mule's kick.

Jericho didn't bother with guns. They would have handicapped him, because he preferred bludgeons. The clubs he used were crooks themselves. As he launched

from the truck, this modern Goliath plucked a foeman with each giant hand and used them to bash two others. Through with those human weapons he flung them aside and gathered in a fresh pair.

The Shadow was counting on such titanic assistance. Shifting as he fired, he winged his nearest enemies, chopping down four before they could shoot back.

With Jericho cutting a giant's swath through the next batch and the other agents

blocking out the gang beyond, The Shadow was nearly out of range of the volley that reached him. His quick shift was sufficient to let the bullets whistle by.

Before other crooks could gain a bead on him, The Shadow was gone, somewhere among the maze of trucks.

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