the cold hurt went into the effort as he stepped in and snapped his fist
into the face of Buck Heath. He rose with the blow; all his energy, from
wrist to instep, was in that lifting drive. Then there was a jarring
impact that made his arm numb to the shoulder. Buck Heath looked blankly
at him, wavered, and pitched loosely forward on his face. And his head
bounced back as it struck the ground. It was a horrible thing to see,
but it brought one wild yell of joy from the saloon--the voice of
Jasper Lanning.

Andrew had dropped to his knees and turned the body upon its back. The
stone had been half buried in the dust, but it had cut a deep, ragged
gash on the forehead of Buck. His eyes were open, glazed; his mouth
sagged; and as the first panic seized Andy he fumbled at the heart of
the senseless man and felt no beat.

"Dead!" exclaimed Andy, starting to his feet. Men were running toward
him from the saloon, and their eagerness made him see a picture he had
once seen before. A man standing in the middle of a courtroom; the place
crowded; the judge speaking from behind the desk: "--to be hanged by the
neck until--"

A revolver came into the hand of Andrew. And when he found his voice,
there was a snapping tension in it.

"Stop!" he called. The scattering line stopped like horses thrown back
on their haunches by jerked bridle reins. "And don't make no move,"
continued Andy, gathering the reins of Buck's horse behind him. A
blanket of silence had dropped on the street.

"The first gent that shows metal," said Andy, "I'll drill him. Keep