A gun thundered in that small room, and the concussion almost closed the door, but Irish jerked ahead and blocked it. Buck was on the floor, his head and shoulders against a table-leg, and over him stood a man, cocking his gun for the next shot. “Hold it!” yelled Irish. The man whirled and fired from his waist, but his bullet went wild. Irish shot deliberately through the smoke. The man was sent back on his heels, his gun-hand dropping, but he was game. He braced his feet and tried to swing the gun up again, but Irish shot again, and the man went down, striking a chair and knocking it across the room. His gun went with the chair. Irish came slowly across the room, followed by the others. Buck French was badly hurt, but he wasn’t unconscious. Irish took Buck’s gun from his holster. The sheriff and Johnny were looking down at the other man. “I must be dreamin’,” the sheriff said. “This is the minister, Irish!” “I was afraid of that,” said Irish grimly. “How are yuh, Buck?” “That yellow coyote tried to kill me,” complained Buck weakly. “Get me a doctor, will yuh, Irish?” “So you two are the Night Hawks, eh?” “Yeah. It was John’s idea. Bein’ a preacher, nobody’d suspect him--he thought. He’s murder crazy, I tell yuh.” “Wasn’t any preacher at all, eh?” said Tucson. “He studied for it,” said Buck. “His name was Strickland. He done five years for forgery. He was the Ghost Rider, and when he had plenty money he killed Hank Farley and put the clothes on him. I worked with him, but I never killed anybody.” “You tried hard tonight, Buck,” said Irish. “Nobody pulled on that front door. Did this hombre kill Al Briggs?” “Yeah,” whispered Buck. “Al was drinkin’. He thought the parson was stuck on his wife, and he came to have it out with him. Walked in on the parson, who had put on his workin’ clothes. I picked Al up, put him in front of Corwin’s office and fired a shot in the air. He shot Slim Duarte tonight, too. He was murder crazy.” “I never dreamed of anythin’ like this,” said the sheriff. “I’m still weak over it. Irish, how did you find all this out?” “I found my six-shooter in that table drawer over there tonight. It put the deadwood on Buck, but I had to get the brains of the outfit. Somebody sent me a decoy note today and signed Nell Briggs’ name to it. I got knocked out in front of her house. “When I left you fellows at the hitchrack, I went down there. I had to be sure she didn’t write it. She didn’t. I asked them who had been there and they said the preacher. Then I knew who I was lookin’ for.” “How did yuh know, Irish?” “The Night Hawks sent me a letter and it had perfume on it. When I went into the Briggs house tonight, I smelled that same perfume. It had to be the preacher.” * * * * * Sheriff Corwin’s mouth opened in surprise. Then he scowled. “Shorty,” said the sheriff, “you go get the doctor. No use movin’ ’em now.”