The Fighting Edge

  CHAPTER XLIII

  NOT EVEN POWDER-BURNT

  Houck stood over the prostrate man, the smoking revolver in his hand, onhis lips a cruel twist and in his throat a wolfish snarl.

  June, watching him with eyes held in a fascination of terror, felt thatat any moment he might begin pumping shots into the supine body. Sheshook off the palsy that held her and almost hurled her soft young bodyat him.

  "Don't!" she begged. "Don't!" Cold fingers clutched at his wrist, draggeddown the barrel of the forty-five.

  "He had it comin'. He was askin' for it," the outlaw said. He spokehuskily, still looking down at the crumpled figure.

  The girl felt in him the slackness of indecision. Should he shoot againand make sure? Or let the thing go as it was? In an instant he would havemade up his mind.

  She spoke quickly, words tumbling out pell-mell. "You must hurry--hurry!When they heard that shot--Listen! There's some one coming. Oh, run,run!"

  Her staccato warning deflected his mind from the course toward which itmight have turned. He held up his head, listening. The slap of footstepson a board walk could be plainly heard. A voice lifted itself in questioninto the night. The door of Dolan's opened and let out a fan-shaped shaftof light. The figures of men could be seen as they surged across the litspace into the darkness. June had spoken the truth. He must hurry if hewas to escape. To shoot again now would be to advertise the spot where hewas.

  He wrenched his arm from her fingers and ran. He moved as awkwardly as abear, but he covered ground swiftly. In a few seconds the night hadswallowed him.

  Instantly the girl was beside Dillon, on her knees, lifting his head intoher arms. "Oh, Bob--Bob!" she wailed.

  He opened his eyes.

  "Where did he hit you?" she cried softly.

  His face was puzzled. He did not yet realize what had taken place. "Hitme--who?"

  "That Houck. He shot you. Oh, Bob, are you much hurt?"

  Dillon was recalled to a pain in his intestines. He pressed his handagainst the cartridge belt.

  "It's here," he said weakly.

  He could feel the wet blood soaking through the shirt. The thought of italmost made him lose consciousness again.

  "L-let's have a look," a squeaky voice said.

  June looked up. Blister had arrived panting on the scene. Larson was onhis heels.

  "We better carry him to the hotel," the cattleman said to the justice."Who did it?"

  "Houck," June sobbed. She was not weeping, but her breath was catching.

  Bob tried to rise, but firm hands held him down. "I can walk," heprotested. "Lemme try, anyhow."

  "No," insisted June.

  Blister knelt beside Dillon. "Where's the wound at?" he asked.

  The young fellow showed him.

  "J-June, you go get Doc T-Tuckerman," Blister ordered.

  She flew to obey.

  The fat man opened the shirt.

  "Look out for the blood," Bob said, still faintly. "Ouch!"

  Blister's hand was traveling slowly next to the flesh. "N-no blood here,"he said.

  "Why, I felt it."

  "R-reckon not, son." Blister exposed his hand in the moonlight.

  The evidence bore out what he said.

  "Maybe it's bleeding internally," Bob said.

  Larson had picked up the belt they had unstrapped from Dillon's waist. Hewas examining it closely. His keen eyes found a dent in the buckle. Thebuckle had been just above the spot where Bob complained of the pain.

  "Maybe it ain't," Larson said. "Looks like he hit yore belt an' thebullet went flyin' wild."

  A closer examination showed that this must be what had taken place. Therewas no wound on Bob's body. He had been stunned by the shock and hisactive imagination had at once accepted the assumption that he had beenwounded.

  Bob rose with a shamefaced laugh. The incident seemed to him verycharacteristic. He was always making a fool of himself by gettingfrightened when there was no need of it. One could not imagine DudHollister lying down and talking faintly about an internal bleeding whenthere was not a scratch on his body, nor fancying that he could feelblood soaking through his shirt because somebody had shot at him.

  As the three men walked back toward the hotel, they met June and Dud. Thegirl cried out at sight of Bob.

  "I'm a false alarm," he told her bitterly. "He didn't hit me a-tall."

  "Hit his b-belt buckle. If this here T-Texas man lives to be a hundredhe'll never have a closer call. Think of a fellow whangin' away with aforty-five right close to him, hitting him where he was aimin' for, andnot even scratching Bob. O' course the shock of it knocked him cold.Naturally it would. But I'll go on record that our friend here was bornlucky. I'd ought by rights to be holdin' an inquest on the remains,"Blister burbled cheerfully.

  June said nothing. She drew a long sigh of relief and looked at Bob tomake sure that they were concealing nothing from her.

  He met her look in a kind of dogged despair. On this one subject he wasso sensitive that he found criticisms where none were intended. Blisterwas making excuses for him, he felt, was preparing a way of escape fromhis chicken-hearted weakness. And he did not want the failure palliated.

  "What's the use of all that explainin', Blister?" he said bluntly. "Factis, I got scared an' quit cold. Thought I was shot up when I wasn't evenpowder-burnt."

  He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Dud's white teeth showed in his friendly, affectionate grin. "Never didsee such a fellow for backin' hisself into a corner an' allowin' thathe's a plumb quitter. I'll bet, if the facts were known, he come throughall right."

  June decided to tell her story. "Yes, Dud. He must have seen Jake Houckwith me, and when Jake--annoyed me--Bob jumped at him and hit him. ThenJake shot."

  "Lucky he didn't shoot again after Bob was down," ventured Dud on asearch for information.

  In the darkness none of them could see the warm glow that swept acrossthe cheeks of the girl. "I kinda got in his way--and told him he'd betterhurry," she explained.

  "Yes, but--Where did you meet Houck? How did he happen to be with you?"asked Larson. "To be on this side of town he must 'a' slipped through theguards."

  "He never went to the river. I found him under the bed in my room a fewminutes ago. Said he ran in there after he left the bank. He wanted me toget him a horse. I wouldn't. But I knew if he was found cornered he wouldkill somebody before he was taken. Maybe two or three. I didn't know. Andof course he wouldn't 'a' let me leave the room alone anyhow. So I saidI'd walk across the park with him and let him slip into the sage. Ithought it would be better."

  Dud nodded. "We'd better get the boys on his trail immediate."

  They separated, with that end in view.