right shoulder at de Spains head, flattened sidewise against the gasping outlaws breast. Hugging his shield, de Spain threw his second shot over Sanduskys left shoulder into Logans face. Logan, sinking to the floor, never moved again. Supporting with extraordinary strength the unwieldy bulk of the dying butcher, de Spain managed to steady him as a buffer against Morgans fire until he could send a slug over Sanduskys head at the instant the latter collapsed. Morgan fell against the bar.
Sanduskys weight dragged de Spain down. For an instant the four men sprawled in a heap. Sassoon, who had not yet got an effective shot across at his agile enemy, dropping his revolver, dodged under the rail to close. De Spain, struggling to free himself from the dying man, saw, through a mist, the greenish eyes and the thirsty knife. He fired from the floor. The bullet shook without stopping his enemy, and de Spain, partly caught under Sanduskys body, thought, as Sassoon came on, the game was up. With an effort born of desperation, he dragged himself from under the twitching giant, freed his revolver, rolled away, and, with his sight swimming, swung the gun at Sassoons stomach. He meant to kill him. The bullet whirled the white-faced man to one side and he dropped, but pulled himself, full of fight, to his knees and, knife in hand, panted forward. De Spain rolling hastily from him, staggered to his feet and, running in as Sassoon tried to strike, beat him senseless with the butt of his gun.
His own eyes were streaming blood. His head was reeling and he was breathless, but he remembered those of the gang waiting outside. He still could see dimly the window at the end of the bar. Dashing his fingers through the red stream on his forehead, he ran for the window, smashed through the sash into the patio and found Sassoons horse trembling at the fusillade. Catching the lines and the pommel, he stuck his foot up again and again for the stirrup. It was useless; he could not make it. Then, summoning all of his fast-ebbing strength, he threw himself like a sack across the horses back, lashed the brute through the open gateway, climbed into the saddle, and spurred blindly away.
CHAPTER XI AFTER THE STORM
Find your feet before you go in, Pardaloe, suggested the heavier of the two men guardedly to the taller one.
Does this man know you? muttered the man addressed as Pardaloe, stamping in the soft dust and shifting slightly a gun harness on his breast.
Pedro knows me, returned Lefever, the other man, but McAlpin says there is a new man here, a half-wit. They all belong to the same gangcoiners, I believe, every one of them. They work here and push in Texas.
Can you spot the room when you get up-stairs, where we saw that streak of light a minute ago? demanded Pardaloe, gazing at the black front of the building.
I can spot every foot of the place, up-stairs and down, in the dark, declared Lefever, peering through the inky night at the ruinous pile.
Instead of meeting de Spain, as appointed, Lefever had come in from the Thief River stage with Scott three hours late only to learn of the fight at the Inn and de Spains disappearance. Jeffries had already sent a party, of whom Pardaloe, a man of Farrell Kennedys from Medicine Bend, had been picked up as one, down from Sleepy Cat, to look for the missing man, and for hours the search had gone forward.
Suppose you go back to the barn, suggested Pardaloe, and wait there while I go in and have a little talk with the landlord.
Why, yes, Pardaloe. Thats an idea, assented Lefever feebly. Then he laid the first two fingers of his fat right hand on the lapel of his companions coat: Where should you like your body sent? he asked in feigned confidence. Concerning these little details, its just as well to know your wishes now.
You dont suppose this boob will try to fight, do you, when he knows Jeffries will burn the shack over his head if another railroad man is attacked in it? demanded Pardaloe.
The most ruinous habit I have had in lifeand first and last I have contracted manyhas been, trusting other people, observed Lefever. A man shouldnt trust
anybodynot even himself. We can burn the boobs shack downof course: but if you go in there alone the ensuing blaze would be of no particular interest to you.
All right. We go in together.
Not exactly that, either. You go first. Few of these forty-four bullets will go through two men at once.
Ignoring Lefevers pleasantry, Pardaloe, pulling his hat brim through force of habit well over his eyes, shook himself loose and, like a big cat walking in water, stepped toward the door. He could move his tall, bony frame, seemingly covered only with muscles and sinews, so silently that in the dark he made no more sound than a spectre. But once before the door, with Lefever close at hand, he pounded the cracked panels till the windows shook. Some time elapsed before there was any response. The pounding continued till a flickering light appeared at a window. There was an ill-natured colloquy, a delay, more impatience, and at length the landlord reluctantly opened the door.