But the laughter broke.
"Pat—you're my wife. You know my dream—you shared it. Why did you do it?"
"Yes, she knows your sick dream, Harry," I said.
"Shut up, Ash;" he said quietly. "Don't die with your mouth open."
He fired, but I was on the floor of the tunnel.
"Ash!" That was Pat's voice, but I was rolling, and tearing at my side.
"Get back, Pat!" Thorsten shouted. I was up on my knees, the singleshot gun in my hand. I charged forward.
He brought up his gun. The noise had awakened everybody in hearing distance. Doors were opening, men were running.
I pointed the slim tube at his belly and jammed my thumb down on the firing stud.
He screamed, cupping his hand over the smoking hole I had punched in his stomach. His knees bent, and he sank backwards, toppling, finally, as he lost his balance. He opened his mouth, choking, and blood welled over his chin.