Across the head of the man next him Shorty reached and raised his arm.
Dave saw the blue barrel of the revolver sweeping down, but could not
free a hand to protect himself. A jagged pain shot through his head.
The power went out of his legs. He sagged at the hinges of his knees.
He stumbled and went down. Heavy boots kicked at him where he lay. It
seemed to him that bolts of lightning were zigzagging through him.

The pain ceased and he floated away into a sea of space.




CHAPTER VII

BOB HART TAKES A HAND


Bob Hart waited till his friend had disappeared into the house before he
moved.

"Thought he'd run it over me, so I'd roost here on the roof, did he?
Well, I'm after the ol' horn-toad full jump," the puncher murmured,
a gay grin on his good-looking face.

He, too, examined his gun before he followed Dave through the dormer
window and passed into the frowsy bedchamber. None of the details of it
escaped his cool, keen gaze, least of all the sawed-off shotgun in the
corner.