Crack! crack! crack! crack!
The weapon was emptied, but the fleeing wretch kept on and disappeared into the darkness.
“Well, I sure am a rotten bad shot,” observed the Texan, in disgust. “Reckon that’s because I got a bump on the head that made me see a few stars and comets. I say, partner, how are you?”
“Alive, thanks to you,” answered Dick. “You chipped into the game at the right moment. I believe that brute meant to knife me.”
“It certain seemed that he had some such intentions. Where are the rest of the gents?”
“They’ve skipped—all but one. One of them should be here.”
But the little man Cully, who had been knocked down, had crawled off into the darkness and could not be found.
“Evidently they’re all gone,” said Dick, rubbing his right shoulder with his left hand. “I’m afraid that shoulder is hurt pretty bad.”
“And I’m a whole lot unsteady on my pins,” muttered the Texan. “That was a joyous old scrimmage, but it didn’t seem to wake up the neighborhood much.”
“Some one is coming now,” said Dick. “I can see a row of brass buttons dancing this way.”