Something whizzed past his ear, and he heard a man cry out with pain. El Chuchilla had missed his target and pinned the wrong man. Someone tripped Streak, and at that moment Zero Brant caught one of Streak’s arms in a viselike grip. Brant was bleeding from a badly-cut eye, nose and mouth, and he didn’t seem to know what to do, now that he had caught Streak. “The wishbone, Streak!” yelled Mack Shell’s voice. “Hit him in the wishbone!” Streak’s right hand was free, and he smashed Brant’s nose flat. Again and again he smashed that nose, until Brant released the hold on Streak’s left arm, trying to protect himself. Streak drew a deep breath. Brant had flung both hands up, trying to protect his face, when Streak, putting every ounce of power into a right hand blow, drove it deep into Brant’s body, just below the arch of his huge ribs. Zero Brant’s mouth snapped wide and he grunted with pain. His stomach was not fortified against such a punch. He sagged, both hands dropping to his sides, and Streak hit him again in the same spot. But Brant merely grunted. With the agility of a monkey, El Chuchilla had reached the top of the bar, knife in hand, but a pistol cracked, and the little knife-artist was fairly lifted off the bar by the heavy bullet. “Get out of here!” a man yelled. “They’re goin’ to dynamite yuh!” Streak whirled, but at that moment something hit him, and he went reeling against the wall. It was several minutes before Streak could realize what had happened. Clare was trying to help him up, and the place was deserted except for El Chuchilla, behind the bar, and a man sitting against the wall, looking wearily at life. He was the one El Chuchilla had hit. * * * * * Streak managed to get to his feet on rubbery legs. Gradually the building stopped whirling, and he could recognize her. “I’m all right,” he whispered. “Why did you follow me?” “I had to come,” she said. “I couldn’t stay in the office. You saw the Mark of Cain on Zero Brant?” Streak nodded wearily. “Let’s get out,” he said. “We’ve got to help-- somebody.” They went outside. There was a crowd further down the street, yelling and cursing. Streak said, “I forgot the dynamiters. Clare. You go to the office and wait for me.” He went at a staggering run down the middle of the street. “Don’t let Brant get away!” he heard someone yell. A man was running up the street, and Streak called to him. It was Mack Shell, going back to find Streak, panting, swearing. “They knocked me down and rolled me plumb into the street!” Shell panted. “Brant and his woman got away somewhere.” “The dynamiters?” queried Streak anxiously. “They ain’t got here yet. We’ve got to find Zero Brant!” They reached the office and stopped. A revolver exploded somewhere behind the jail, followed by a yell. Shell exclaimed, “The horses!” Streak had forgotten that Shell had saddled their horses. They hurried down the narrow alley. It was quite dark down there.