jerked at the shirt of Andrew beside his neck.
He himself had fired only once, and he knew that the
shot had been too high and to the right of his central
target; yet he did not fire again. Something
strange was happening to Hal Dozier. His head
had nodded forward as though in mockery of the bullet;
his extended right hand fell slowly, slowly; his whole
body began to sway and lean toward the right.
Not until that moment did Andrew know that he had
shot the marshal through the body.
He raced to the side of the cattle pony, and, as the
horse veered away, Hal Dozier dropped limply into
his arms. He lay with his limbs sprawling at
odd angles beside him. His muscles seemed paralyzed,
but his eyes were bright and wide, and his face perfectly
composed.
“There’s luck for you,” said Hal
Dozier calmly. “I pulled it two inches
to the right, or I would have broken your neck with
the slug—anyway, I spoiled your shirt.”
The cold was gone from Andrew, and he felt his heart
thundering and shaking his body. He was repeating
like a frightened child, “For God’s sake,
Hal, don’t die—don’t die.”
The paralyzed body did not move, but the calm voice
answered him: “You fool! Finish me
before your gang comes and does it for you!”
There was a rush of footsteps behind and around him,
a jangle of voices, and there were the four huddled
over Hal Dozier. Andrew had risen and stepped
back, silently thanking God that it was not a death.
He heard the voices of the four like voices in a dream.
“A clean one.” “A nice bit
of work.” “Dozier, are you thinkin’
of Allister, curse you?” “D’you
remember Hugh Wiley now?” “D’you
maybe recollect my pal, Bud Swain? Think about
’em, Dozier, while you’re dyin’!”
The calm eyes traveled without hurry from face to face.
And curiosity came to Andrew, a cool, deadly curiosity.
He stepped among the gang.
“He’s not fatally hurt,” he said.
“What d’you intend to do with him?”
“You’re all wrong, chief,” said
Larry la Roche, and he grinned at Andrew. His
submission now was perfect and complete. There
was even a sort of worship in the bright eyes that
looked at the new leader. “I hate to say
it, but right as you mos’ gener’ly are,
you’re wrong this time. He’s done.
He don’t need no more lookin’ to.
Leave him be for an hour and he’ll be finished.
Also, that’ll give him a chance to think.
He needs a chance. Old Curley had a chance to
think—took him four hours to kick out after
Dozier plugged him. I heard what he had to say,
and it wasn’t pretty. I think maybe it’d
be sort of interestin’ to hear what Dozier has
to say. Long about the time he gets thirsty.
Eh, boys?”
There was a snarl from the other three as they looked
down at the wounded man, who did not speak a word.
And Andrew knew that he was indeed alone with that
crew, for the man whom he had just shot down was nearer
to him than the members of Allister’s gang.
