Arthur O. Friel, Twenty-Four Hours — Chapter 2 (1925)
“ Instantly a wiry young peon glided through the darksome doorway at the rear. His right hand swung up—back—shot forward with the speed of a striking catapult. Like a bullet a smooth stone darted through the air. And like a man shot down in his tracks El Tigre toppled, pitched sidewise, and lay senseless on the tiled floor. With a triumphant squall Gordo threw himself forward; stooped, snatched the unconscious man's revolver from its holster, and arose grinning. “The orders are changed,” he gurgled. “Señores, the gasoline and food need not be sent to the port; at least, not yet. ”
