that hurt. It was " Coward!"

Thurston looked down at the gun, and at the huddled form. A tiny
river of blood was creeping toward him. Already it had reached
his foot, and his shoe was red along the sole. He moved his foot
quickly away from it, and shuddered.

"Coward!" murmured the girl contemptuously again, and a splotch
of anger showed under the tan of her cheek.

Thurston caught his breath and wondered if he could do it; he
looked toward the door and thought how far it was to send a
bullet straight when a man has never, in all his life, fired a
gun. And without looking he could see that horrible, red stream
creeping toward him like some monster in a nightmare. His flesh
crimpled with physical repulsion, but he meant to try; perhaps
he could shoot the man in the mask, so that there would be
another huddled, lifeless Thing on the floor, and another
creeping red stream.

At that instant the tawny-haired young fellow beside the girl
gathered himself for a spring, flung himself headlong before her
and into the aisle; caught the dead man's pistol from the floor
and fired, seemingly with one movement. Then he sprang up, still
firing as fast as the trigger could move. From the door came
answer, shot for shot, and the car was filled with the stifling
odor of burnt powder. A woman screamed hysterically.

Then a puff of cool, prairie breeze came in through the
shattered window behind Thurston, and the smoke-cloud lifted