“He may not go along with us. Maybe he’ll hang out at some town near here. At the same time, he may decide to come with me. That’s why I’m going in my own car, following the rest of you. This fellow is working with me—on the ground floor. It’s his only bet. I’m telling you this, so as you’ll know to keep mum. Twister is on the q. t. The Chicago boys don’t mean anything.”
“All right, Hub,” agreed Stacks.
“I’m ready. I’ll stick downstairs with Scully until I get the word.”
Stacks Lodi left the big shot’s room and joined Twister and Scully on the floor below. Shortly afterward, Hub Rowley left the road house. It was nearly midnight when a telephone call came for Stacks Lodi. Hub Rowley was on the wire.
“Tell Twister to get in touch with the mob,” were Hub’s instructions. “He can drive after them in your car. Line up and wait until I show up in the coupe. That will be the signal to start. Leave Scully there at the joint.”
Stacks passed the message to Twister. The big shot’s bodyguard sauntered forth. Stacks lounged around with Scully until he heard the noise of cars arriving on the road outside. He went out to find three automobiles in a row, his touring car at the head. Twister’s hissing call summoned him.
“You lead the way,” said the bodyguard. “Drive the first buggy. I’ll run the second. Hold it until Hub gets here.”
The lights of a coupe appeared while Twister was speaking. The car drew up in back of the procession. Stacks Lodi clambered into the driver’s vacant seat of the touring car up front.
Hub Rowley had arrived; now was the time to start.
FOUR men were in Stacks Lodi’s car. The ex-gambler listened to their muffled chatter as he drove ahead. Tough, uncouth mobsters recruited from the bad lands of Chicago, these rowdies were a more vicious group than those who had served with Scully last night at the Junction House.
Two more cars—each with its quota of gunmen. These were following now. Stacks Lodi, glancing behind as he took the first curve in the dirt road, could see the other automobiles taking up the trail. Back at the very end, just starting, was Hub Rowley’s coupe.
Stacks Lodi had only a momentary glance at the rearmost automobile. Its lights made it nothing more than a dim shape behind two beaming bulbs. Hence Stacks could not possibly have seen what was happening at the rear of that coupe.
Nor did Hub Rowley, at the wheel of his small car, know what was going on in back of him.
Just as the coupe was starting, a tall shape of blackness shot forward from the dark at the side of the road. The light from the road house dimly revealed a swiftly moving splotch upon the ground.
The red tail light of the coupe seemed to blink as a mass of darkness covered it; then the light shone crimson again as a lithe form stretched itself upon the closed rear of the car. Not a jolt—not a sound. Noiseless, a being from the night had come aboard the coupe.
As Hub’s car shot forward, the phantom shape remained. A hidden rider, totally invisible upon the back of the last car in the row, was riding forth with the caravan that had set out to deliver a mass attack upon the cabin in the clearing.
Tonight, Hub Rowley had scoffed at the thought of The Shadow being concerned in the enterprise that centered about Carter Boswick’s millions. Hub, perhaps, was of the same opinion now; but his derogatory belief did not alter the actual circumstances.
The Shadow, master of darkness, had joined the invaders. He, too, was traveling toward the scene of battle. When the attackers struck, The Shadow would be there!
CHAPTER XV.
IN THE CLEARING.
“HERE we are.”
Stacks Lodi, close beside Hub Rowley, pointed out the cabin from the edge of the clearing. The little building was visible under the pale moonlight. Not a light showed in any of its windows.
Hub Rowley chuckled softly. Stacks Lodi was on one side of him; Twister Edmonds on the other. Behind them, like a ghostly crew, were the mobsters whom they had brought on this excursion.
“All right,” growled Hub, in a low tone. “We’ll spread here. You take half of the men, Stacks, and cut over to the right. You, with the other half, Twister, over to the left. Never mind the side toward the hill. If they try to get away up there, they’ll be easy meat.
“Spread out and come in from two sides. If they make a break toward the center, we’ll be able to cut in on them from two directions. Wait a minute”—Hub paused to survey the scene like a general in a campaign—“I’ll follow up in back of your crew, Stacks. They’re more likely to scoot out the rear door in a pinch, and that’s where you’re covering. Besides”—there was a touch of sarcasm in the big shot’s tone—“I want to see how you handle things, Stacks. Maybe I’ll have a chance to help you out this time.”
Stacks Lodi made no reply. In a low, smooth voice, he called for half a dozen men, and these members of the mob separated themselves from the rest. Twister took the others.
Hub watched the two corps start out toward their respective posts. Then, with a final chuckle, the big shot glanced about to make sure that all his men had found a place. For a moment, he fancied that he saw a man still lurking in the darkness. His growl died on his lips when he realized that no one was there.
Nevertheless, as Hub trooped after Stacks Lodi’s squad, the impression still persisted that he had actually sensed the presence of some one behind him. For a moment, he had a notion to return and investigate, but he decided that it would be useless. He came to the opinion that he must have been deceived by a darkened tree trunk.
HUB ROWLEY had a definite purpose in going with Stacks Lodi’s outfit. The big shot intended to direct the advance; not to enter it himself, unless emergency required. He had discussed it briefly with Twister Edmonds, and he knew that his bodyguard would cue the actions of his squad according to those of Stacks Lodi’s band.
Hub intended to attack swiftly and effectively. Hence it would be best to start Stacks first, and let Twister act accordingly.
Soon all was prepared. Silent men were crouched at the edge of the clearing. Hub Rowley watched the cabin intently, ready to give the word. Apparently, two sleeping victims would be handled in short order.
But within that cabin, only one man slept. Carter Boswick was stretched out upon the floor in the central room. Harry Vincent was sitting in the darkness, vigilant, his ears alert for any intruding sound.
“Ps-s-t!”
Harry’s warning hiss awakened Carter in an instant. The young man groped his way toward The Shadow’s agent. Harry gave another hiss for silence.
“Just thought I heard something,” he whispered. “Listen! Maybe it will begin again.”
Carter listened. He gripped Harry’s arm.
“There’s some one outside the cabin,” be said, in a low tone. “I can’t figure which side it is.”
“Come on,” replied Harry. “Crawl to the front door. Open it softly. We’ll peek out there, and we can creep around the cabin in opposite directions Whoever it is, we’ll find him.”
“Maybe it’s”—Carter hesitated— “maybe the one who sent you here.”
Harry’s grunt was negative. Well did Harry know that The Shadow, when he approached a place, moved with velvet silence. He was positive that some prowler had caused the sound, unless a roving animal of the woods might be responsible.
The door opened under Harry’s touch. Both men peered out. Lying close to the floor, they had partially emerged, when Harry suddenly clutched Carter’s arm with a desperate grip.
“Look there!”
Creeping in from the edge of the clearing were two lines of moving men. In the dim light, their numbers seemed weirdly formidable. Harry and Carter had gained the door just in time to witness the simultaneous advance of Hub Rowley’s two squads of gangsters!
Two automatics were in Harry’s hands. Carter Boswick was similarly equipped. Safety catches were unlocked. Here, in readiness, the young men held weapons that could repel the invaders. Yet the size of the attack was appalling.
HARRY’S hesitation ended. He suddenly saw merit in opening the attack. It was a desperate chance, but it seemed the only one.
“Give them everything we’ve got!” ordered Harry. “Plug away full speed. With four pistols going, we can make them think they’re up against a gang. Catch them while they still have a chance to go back. Then they may scatter!”
“Good,” agreed Carter. “I’ll take the bunch on the right. Let’s go!”
“Shoot!” ordered Harry.
The four automatics barked as the two defenders opened a vicious fire. The repeated flashes from the door of the cabin were followed by loud echoes from the trees.
The result was instantaneous. The rows of men dropped with one accord. Flat on the ground, they began to return the volley.
Stacks Lodi saw his men wavering. One gangster had been clipped, and was groaning on the ground. But Stacks showed a remarkable keenness in the face of this unexpected burst.
“There’s only two of them!” he shouted, his voice audible above the barking revolvers of his men. “Give them the works!”
The encouragement rallied the gangsters. It passed to Twister Edmonds’ crew. There, two men were down to stay; the others were almost on the point of flight. But the sight of Lodi’s mob holding its ground was all that they needed.
The volley from the doorway had ended with the suddenness that had marked its beginning. Harry Vincent’s plan had failed. Bullets were zimming against the sides of the cabin. With one accord, Harry and Carter flung themselves back in the big room.
“Reload!” was Harry’s command.
Carter groaned as he started to obey. Through the crack of the door, he could see one row of invaders rising.
A mighty shout came from the edges of the clearing. Both Stacks and Twister had figured the trouble; two warriors within the cabin, ammunition spent. A rapid charge was starting from both sides!
Harry could see the attackers through the window. He understood Carter’s groan. They were helpless, now that the ruse had failed. The attack seemed destined to end in massacre.
Then, above the shouts of the men rising for the charge, Harry heard the roaring booms of two cannon-like guns. Reload in hand, he stopped in momentary stupor. Those shots were coming from a bulging curve in the clearing, midway between the two advancing lines.
Gangsters began to sprawl upon the rough turf. Terrific bursts of flame, with roaring echoes, signaled the entry of a new contestant. As he saw the invaders toppling, first from one line, then from the other, Harry sensed the answer.
The Shadow!
FROM the projecting stretch of woods, the master of darkness was delivering an enfilade. His well-directed shots were speeding leaden messengers directly along the lines. He was not shooting at individuals; he was aiming into groups of men!
One fighter was succeeding where two had failed. The Shadow had withheld the power of his .45s until his enemies were completely at his mercy. With four automatics, two in hands and two beneath his cloak, he had reserve ammunition sufficient to wipe out the dastardly crew!
The proper type of fire proved Harry Vincent’s theory. The advancing gangsters took to spreading flight. Half of them had fallen; the others were rushing away from the hidden menace. Men were sagging as they fled.
Only the mad break for safety saved the mobsters from annihilation. Some who had dropped were dead; others were wounded. But as the remainder became scattered targets, The Shadow’s shots lessened in rapidity. A few pitiful enemies reached the woods and plunged into the underbrush.
Hub Rowley, alone, put up a stout effort to foil The Shadow. Back in the edge of the woods, he could see the flashes of The Shadow’s guns. The big shot dropped behind a large rock and opened fire toward the bursts of flame. But although he prided himself as a marksman, he could not make a hit.
The Shadow, crouched in the darkness, swaying, moving, turning, was never in the same place twice. Hub was still firing as the few escaping mobsmen plunged to safety; and it was then that The Shadow proved his ability to do what Hub could not.
The flashes burst in Hub’s direction. Picking a blind target, The Shadow aimed with amazing precision. Had it not been for the big rock, the first of the bullets would have found its mark.
Large slivers of rock chipped away as The Shadow’s bullets smashed against Hub’s natural barricade. These death messengers from nowhere clicked their threat of doom. Dropping to the ground, Hub crawled rapidly away through the brush, keeping constantly beyond the rock. He had no desire to wait until The Shadow had moved to deliver a fire from the side.
Seeing The Shadow’s shots directed into the woods, Harry and Carter supposed that he was driving off reinforcements. With their reloading finished, they sallied forth across the clearing. A few wild shots came from wounded gangsters in the open area. Seeing this, they covered the men and approached to disarm them.
WITH this work finished, Harry and Carter again turned toward the woods. The Shadow’s fire had ceased. They did not know what might have happened. By common decision, both defenders hurried toward the woods. They could hear plunging gangsters in the darkness, and they fired rapid shots to encourage the flight.
“Hold it!” ordered Harry suddenly. “We’d better get over to the side of the cabin by the hill. Maybe there are others up there!”
At the cabin, they separated. Harry swung around one side; Carter took the other. They met on the side toward the hill.
“All clear here,” declared Harry. “Come on—we’ll go back.”
As Harry went around the side of the cabin, Carter turned to follow. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a man springing suddenly to his feet. He had been close to the cabin wall.
Before Carter could raise his revolver the man was a dozen yards away, dashing toward the hillside. As Carter aimed, the fugitive threw a hunted glance over his shoulder. Carter’s finger trembled on his trigger. A wild exclamation came from his lips as his hand dropped to his side.
The cry brought Harry Vincent from the corner of the house. It was a second before Harry caught sight of the running man whom Carter had failed to stop. Impulsively, Harry fired three shots at the fugitive; but the range was too great. The runner kept on like a frightened deer, and gained the upward-sloping woods.
“Why didn’t you get him?” demanded Harry.
“I—I couldn’t,” blurted Carter.
“Where did he come from?” questioned Harry angrily. “When did you see him?”
“He popped up right here,” answered Carter. “He had gone a dozen yards before I had a chance to fire.”
“But you didn’t shoot.”
“I—I couldn’t. I was going to—then he turned his head, and I saw his face in the moonlight.”
“His face? How did that matter? This is no time to worry when you see a face—”
Harry stopped short. Carter Boswick, pale in countenance, was slumped against the wall of the cabin. His gun was almost falling from his hand.
“What’s the matter, old top?” asked Harry, in a tone of anxiety. “He didn’t get you, did he?”
“No,” murmured Carter, in a weak voice. “But I—I nearly got him. I couldn’t do it, though, when I saw him. Harry, when I recognized him, I forgot all about enmities. I couldn’t—couldn’t think of him as being one of the crowd that came to murder us.”
“You recognized him?” exclaimed Harry. “Who was he?”
“A man whom I had hoped was on the square,” said Carter solemnly. “Harry, that fellow was my cousin, Drew Westling!”
CHAPTER XVI.
THE SHADOW ORDERS.
IT was several minutes before Carter Boswick had recovered from the shock that had gripped him. The sight of his cousin, here by the cabin, after all othe
rs had fled, was something that he could hardly believe. Even though Harry Vincent was anxious to get back to the front of the cabin, he waited for Carter to regain his nerve.
“Brace up, old fellow,” pleaded Harry. “I know how you feel. You wouldn’t mind shooting down a pack of gunmen face to face—but your cousin, on the run—”
“It’s not that alone,” responded Carter. “It’s bad enough for him to have been in the mess; but to find him lurking, like a snake, ready to strike.”
“Maybe he didn’t have a chance to get away,” smoothed Harry. “He didn’t attack you when you came around the cabin.”
“Lost his nerve,” said Carter gruffly. “That’s about the size of it, Harry. I feel steady now. Let’s go.”
Events had happened during the interim while Carter and Harry had been behind the house. Bodies of dead gangsters remained in view; but the wounded ones had managed to crawl to the cover of the woods.
This perturbed Harry for the moment; then he realized that pot shots from that distance would be futile. The mobsmen had been so completely routed that there was no danger of their return.
The two defenders went into the cabin. Carter turned on an oil lamp in the main room. He stopped and pointed to an old table. An object lying upon it had caught his immediate attention.
“Look!” he exclaimed. “Who left that there?”
The object was a large envelope, propped on end against a tin of tobacco. Harry picked it up and opened it. He recognized the clear blue ink and coded writing of The Shadow. Carter stared over Harry’s shoulder and gasped as he saw the words begin to disappear.
“What is it?” he questioned.
“A message from my chief,” responded Harry quietly. “It tells us what to do.”
“You mean from—from whomever it was who opened fire from the woods? Say! Has he been here, too?”
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