Steptoe scrambled to his knees, revolver in hand, but the other figure
never moved. "Hands up!" said Jack, sighting his own weapon. The reports
seemed simultaneous, but Jack's bullet had pierced Steptoe's brain even
before the outlaw's pistol exploded harmlessly in the air.
The two men dismounted, but by a common instinct they both ran to the
prostrate figure that had never moved.
"By God! it's a boy!" said Jack, leaning over the body and lifting the
shoulders from which the head hung loosely. "Neck broken and dead as
his pal." Suddenly he started, and, to Demorest's astonishment, began
hurriedly pulling off the glove from the boy's limp right hand.
"What are you doing?" demanded Demorest in creeping horror.
"Look!" said Jack, as he laid bare the small white hand. The first two
fingers were merely unsightly stumps that had been hidden in the padded
glove.
"Good God! Van Loo's brother!" said Demorest, recoiling.
"No!" said Jack, with a grim face, "it's what I have long
suspected,--it's Steptoe's son!"
"His son?" repeated Demorest.
"Yes," said Jack; and he added, after looking at the two bodies with
a long-drawn whistle of concern, "and I wouldn't, if I were you, say
anything of this to Barker."
"Why?" said Demorest.
"Well," returned Jack, "when our scrimmage was over down there, and they
brought the news to Barker that his wife and her diamonds were burnt up
at the hotel, you remember that they said that Mrs.
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