anybody up ahead. The tunnel had swept away the would-be killer.
Strange how The Shadow seemed to grip Chet's thoughts along with the
physical process. He had Chet's own idea; that of getting placed where he could
learn the outcome of this ride. For Chet was swinging from the high side of the
box car as the train still took the curve. Curiously, the sensation was mild,
compared with the things that had gone before. Dangling from the side edge of
the car, Chet could feel the space of the open doorway with his feet, as he
looked up to see the face of the friend who gripped him.
But The Shadow's face was out of sight. Only his hands projected from the
car edge as he kept a foothold on the metal toe path. Then The Shadow's hands
let go in perfect timing. Already partly in the open doorway, Chet felt the car
swing farther toward him as the freight hit the straightaway. He was rolling on
the car floor, safely inside.
Chet expected The Shadow to join him in that spot of refuge, but there were
other things to be finished while the freight whistled its way along the Jersey
branch line. Three fighters didn't constitute the sum total of the crooks on
board this train. Two more were coming in The Shadow's direction, from the spot
where the tunnel had knocked off No. 3.
LIKE the thick smoke from the tunnel, The Shadow dived forward to meet
them, as their guns fired just above his head. Chet didn't hear the gunshots,
but he knew that a scuffle had begun, from the sounds that thudded along the
roof.
The Shadow was showing these crooks the way of right, his system being to
strew them along the right of way. But in meeting a savage pair in a slugging
fray, he was taking a risk that equaled theirs. This was a time when men of
crime were willing to take chances. If they could clout The Shadow off the top
of the steel box car, they'd gladly go along.
It was a matter of minutes, in terms of miles, that struggle, with The
Shadow locked and reeling with his enemies. He had an ally, the branch line
itself, for he sensed its curves as he had in Chet's case and used them to
advantage. Half a dozen times, the lurch of the train threw The Shadow back to a
level he had lost under the combined shoves of two men who were trying to give
him the death grip.
Then came the curve The Shadow wanted. He twisted hard at the vital instant
and sent his enemies spinning apart. They came around with guns and The Shadow,
whipping a .45 from his cloak, beat the first crook to the shot. Two guns spoke
together, but The Shadow's spurt literally lifted his adversary from the car top
and sent him spinning past the open door with a wail that Chet could hear.
Barely grazed by the rival bullet that dented the steel beside the toe
path, The Shadow gave a spinning roll. He was just ahead of the other crook's
fire, for bullets had begun to ricochet beside him. And then, as The Shadow came
face upward, his gun hand lifted, the fingers of his free fist gripping the
metal grille, the clatter of the car wheels slicked into a smoother tone.
Without an instant's hesitation, The Shadow loosed his hold. His jabbing
gun provided the recoil that slithered him over the car edge, a split second
ahead of the return shot that would surely have drilled him had he chosen to
remain.
As he went, The Shadow saw his final foeman stagger and knew that the shot
