He broke off with a gasp of surprise. This man's bullet wound was slight, but the man was dying. There was another weapon, a knife of the sort that can be easily thrown. All that showed was the handle, sticking straight out from the back of the stranger's neck. It took but an instant for the Lone Ranger to visualize what had happened. This fugitive, having fired point-blank at Bryant Cavendish, had raced on foot to reach a clump of trees. Perhaps his horse was waiting there, perhaps a trusted friend. This "friend" or someone else within the shelter of the trees had thrown the knife after the Lone Ranger's shot had dropped the man, probably to seal his lips with death. Whatever the purpose of the murder, the man on the ground would never talk. It was little short of miraculous that he had lived at all after taking the knife in such a vital place. The Lone Ranger could do nothing. The man slipped into unconsciousness, with death a few seconds away. Meanwhile the Lone Ranger was in danger. Yelling, shouting men were charging, some on foot and some on horseback from the rear of the hotel. There was no time for thought or planning. The only important thing right now was escape. The Lone Ranger leaped, and shouted, "Hi-Yo Silver!" The stallion lunged ahead while bullets buzzed too close. Leaning low over the strong neck of Silver, the masked man clung to Bryant Cavendish. "Now," he thought, "those men will not only think I've shot Cavendish, but shot and killed that other man as well." He slapped Silver on the neck. "Old boy," he cried, "from now on we've got to travel fast. If they catch us, it will mean a lynching." Chapter XXII STALEMATE The shooting's aftermath in Red Oak: Some insisted that a posse be formed at once to scour the country for the unknown rider who had taken Bryant Cavendish with him. Others were in favor of letting the law, represented by Slim Peasley, take its fumbling course, while the majority asked resentfully what the hell the disturbance was all about, then turned back to drinks, games, women, or combinations of the same. Wallie Cavendish was much in evidence, for once in his life looking hot-faced and somewhat disheveled. He insisted that prompt action be taken; that something be done about his uncle's abduction. "A hell of a lot you care about him," snapped Jim Bates, the hotel owner. "Now he's gone, yuh know damn well yer ready tuh let out a war whoop of plain an' fancy cheerin'." Wallie ignored the comment and spoke to the group assembled in the lobby. "It's high time there was some law around this place. First Mort gets out of jail, without half-tryin', then Uncle Bryant's carried away, likely dead, an' all we got is that buzzard-bait Peasley. That man on the white horse was leaning over someone when he was seen, wasn't he?" Someone in the crowd said, "Yeah." "Well, what about him? Is anything bein' done?" "He's bein' brought in here. Some of the boys went tuh see about him."