Judd's
eyes, dry, hot, held fascinated on the hand. He shuddered.

"It's not pleasant," came the whisper, "to always have to wear my hair
like this. That's another debt--the largest of all--I have to settle.
_Sheathe your guns!_"

The voice cracked like a whip. They obeyed without sound, though they
read death in the frigid gray eyes. As their guns went into holsters,
Carse's followed suit; he stood then with both hands hanging at his
sides. And he said, in the whisper that carried more weight to them
than the trumpets of a host:

"Once before we were interrupted. This time we won't be. This time we
will see certainly for whom the number five brings death. Count,
Judd."

With a jerk, the Kite regained some control over himself. The odds
were five to one. Five guns to one gun. Carse was a great shot, but
such odds were surely too great. Perhaps--perhaps there might be a
chance. He said in a strained voice to his men:

"Shoot when I reach five."

Then he swallowed and counted:

"One."

Aside from the tiny flickering of the left eyelid, the Hawk was
graven, motionless, apparently without feeling. Judd, he knew, was
just fairly fast; as for the others--

"Two."

--they were unknown quantities, except for one, the man called Jake.
He had the reputation of possessing a lightning draw; his eyes were
narrowed, his hands steady, and the body crouched, a sure sign of--

"Three."

--a gunman who knew his business, who was fast. His hip holsters were
not really worn on the hips, but in front, very close together; that
meant--

"Four."

--that he would probably draw both guns. So Judd must wait; the other
three, being unknowns, disposed of in the order in which they were
standing; but Jake must be--

"Five!"

--first!

* * * * *

One second there was nothing; the next, wicked pencils of orange light
were snaking across the attic! And then two guns clanged on the floor,
unfired, and the man called Jake staggered forward, crumpled and fell,
a puzzled look on his face and accurately between his eyes a little
round neat hole that had come as if by magic. Two others, similarly
stricken, toppled down, their fingers still tensed on ray-gun
triggers; the fourth pirate, his heart drilled, went back from the
force of it and crashed into the wall, slithering down slowly into a
limp heap. But Judd the Kite was still on his feet.

His lips were twisted in a snarl; his hands seemed lock