Barrack kept his pistol pointed at them. “Cal!” he shouted.
Inside the cabin there was a crash.
Ken could visualize what had happened. The big man in the turtle-neck sweater, hurrying toward the door, had apparently knocked down a chair in the crowded little room.
For an instant Barrack’s eyes shifted toward the cabin doorway.
Sandy moved before the man’s glance had refocused. Like a steel spring uncoiling, his six feet straightened out—one shoulder forward, aimed for Barrack’s midriff.
Ken leaped forward too, only a fraction of a second behind him. He chopped at the hand that held the g*n just as Sandy’s shoulder made contact.
The g*n flew wide over the side of the barge. Barrack almost followed it, under the impact of two hundred pounds of well-conditioned muscle.
Almost before Ba
