The Fortune Hunters Read Online Free PDF Page B

youthful employees during their morning’s work.
    Ballinger saw the contents of the drawer and sprang across the room to slam the door and lean his back against it to prevent a mass departure by the youngsters. Seeing that they were trapped, the youngsters settled back to watch their employer get something they had long hoped he would receive.
    Knowing that Ballinger had spotted the loot, Cohen rolled on to his stomach and grabbed for the gun. Dusty sprang forward fast. It was no time to think of fair fighting, for he was not sure how efficient Cohen might be with the revolver.
    Down smashed Dusty’s right boot heel, grinding on to the back of Cohen’s hand and crushing it on the hard butt of the Cloverleaf. Cohen screeched in pain, his fingers opening and his torso rearing upwards in agony. Round lashed Dusty’s left foot, exploding under the man’s jaw and almost lifting him erect. Limp as an unstuffed rag-doll, Cohen collapsed to the floor.
    Dusty might have left it at that, but he chanced to see the girl crouching against the wall and sobbing, the weals of the belt showing on her bare shoulder. Bending, Dusty grabbed Cohen by the back of his dirty vest. With a heave, Dusty fetched the man upwards, almost tipping the vest and shirt from his back and bringing him to his feet. Dusty released his hold and threw his right fist with all his strength behind it. Fist met jaw with a click like two enormous billiard balls colliding. The blow brought a wince of sympathy from Ballinger. It shot Cohen across the room to land him in a limp heap beside the girl he had been beating.
    Mutters of delight and amazement came from the youngsters as they stared bug-eyed first at Cohen’s sprawled out body, then to where Dusty picked up his hat and set it at the correct ‘jack-deuce’ angle over his off-eye.
    ‘Which of you’s Francine Thackery?’ he asked.
    ‘She is, mister,’ one of the boys replied, pointing to the girl Cohen had been flogging.
    A frightened, dirty and tear-stained face lifted to Dusty’s as the girl huddled back against the wall.
    ‘What do you want with me, mister?’ she asked. ‘I never stole anything. That’s why he was thrashing me.’
    ‘Easy now,’ Dusty answered gently, holding out his hand to her. ‘You’re coming out of here with me.’
    ‘Wh—where to?’
    ‘Your grandfather’s ranch in Texas.’
    ‘It’s a lie!’ the girl gasped. ‘My grandfather wouldn’t lift a hand to help me. Pappy always said he was the meanest man alive.’
    ‘He’s dead.’
    Gently taking the girl’s arm, Dusty helped her to her feet. At his touch the girl’s fear died down and hope took its place. Only for a moment did the hope remain, then it died off again. She knew much about the evil power of the man on the floor. His house was filled with men who dare not allow him be arrested for he swore that he would turn State’s evidence on them if the law should ever take him.
    ‘Cohen’s men will never let you through,’ she warned.
    Pushing himself away from the door, Ballinger walked to the room window and tried to raise the sash. It would not budge, so he wasted no more time. Picking up one of the chairs, he smashed it into the window, shattering glass and sash. Then he took out a police whistle and began to blow it lustily. Other whistles sounded and Ballinger knew he would soon have help on hand.
    Seeing their chance, the youngsters all dashed for the door, tearing it open and fleeing. The sound of their departure brought men from other rooms, standing in the corridor until the shrilling of the police whistle brought their attention to Cohen’s room.
    ‘Stop the kids, Dusty!’ Ballinger yelled, hearing them making for the door.
    ‘Let ‘em go. You’ve got that feller with all the evidence against him,’ Dusty replied. ‘You keep blowing that whistle—’
    His words ended as the first of the men came into sight, crowding towards the door of the room. They were big, surly, evil looking men