"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 290 - Death has Grey Eyes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Perhaps she wanted to give Dick an idea of what the angels were going to
look like, but at least she wasn't singing, which was a help. Seeing Irene was
bad enough. He knew now that Greug was right; no explanations would suffice
where this girl and her vindictive associates were concerned.
Through Dick's half-frenzied brain was running the thought that he
couldn't blame them for the deed they intended; at the same time, he was
looking for a way to prevent it. His only shield was the pot-bellied stove,
and
Dick sidled in back of it, only to hear a sharp command from Dolbart.
Like creatures from a nightmare, the two Apaches stepped quickly to the
corner of the room, ready to flank Dick should he attempt an escape. Working
around the stove, Dick saw them poise their knives and change positions
rapidly, always with that same light step that formed a terpsichore macabre.
A harsh order from Dolbart stopped them. Turning, Dick saw himself
squarely in front of the rifle muzzle. The terrible Leo was ready to kill
personally. Only he preferred for the moment to hold Dick spellbound with the
gun muzzle, while his confreres closed in silently.
Irene had moved in from the doorway. Her eyes were flashing hate, mild
compared to the expressions of the Apaches, particularly Leo. At least Irene
was better to look at, so Dick faced her, as he let his arms spread, in
invitation for the Apaches to make their attack and finish with their fun.
Dick's arm struck something that clanged to the floor. It was an old
poker
which belonged with the stove and was leaning beside it. Dick's eyes followed
the clattering object, came up again, and met Irene's stare.
With that, Dick's gaze went black.
He wasn't going out without a fight, not Dick Whitlock. Diving for the
poker, he snatched it up, transferred it to his strong left hand, and made a
wide, terrific swing through the air that sent the knife-bearing Apaches
dodging. Then, coming about, Dick raised the poker as a bludgeon and drove
straight at Dolbart, intending to down the fellow with one clout.
Rushing Leo's rifle-muzzle wasn't sense, not the way that man could
shoot,
but amazingly, it worked. For some reason, Dick's drive had an effect upon
Irene.
With a sudden, frantic shriek, the girl threw herself against Leo's gun,
turned its muzzle upward, and made a mad wrestle to prevent him from firing.
She was exclaiming something half in French, half in English, that was
probably
as incoherent to Leo as it was to Dick, for the scarred man was savagely
trying
to beat Irene away and bring the rifle into action.
Dick whirled with the poker, ready to slug the Apaches away. He didn't
realize that he should have been a dead duck, despite Irene's interference
with
Leo. Dick had given the nimble-footed Apaches a wide-open chance to stab him
in
the back, but they weren't doing it.
Things had gone black before Dick's eyes.
Literally, blackness had swarmed in from the open doorway, in the shape