Snarling blasphemous, furious oaths, the Wolf was firing at the flashes
of Jimmie Dale's revolver--but each time as Jimmie Dale fired, the
sound drowned in the roar of the report, he moved a good yard forward.
Came the trampling of feet from overhead now; and now, as the woman
still screamed, answering shouts and yells came from the dance hall.
Jimmie Dale had the foot of the bed now near the corner. He again, and
instantly flung himself flat upon the floor--and, in the answering flash
of the Wolf's shot, placed the exact location of the _door_ itself.
There was tumult enough now to deaden the slight sound he made. He crept
swiftly past the bed to the wall, against which the door, wide open, was
swung back, felt out with his hand, the edge of the door, and, leaping
suddenly to his feet, hurled the door shut upon the Wolf. There was a
scream of pain--the door as it slammed perhaps had caught the Wolf's arm
or wrist--but before it was opened again Jimmie Dale was across the
room, and, flinging himself through the window, dropped to the ground.
The door crashing back against the wall again, the Wolf's baffled yell
of rage, and an abortive shot, told him that his ruse had been solved.
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