“Let go, you damned fool!”
The man still clung to him. Trevison wrenched himself free and struck, viciously. The man dropped with a startled cry. Another figure was upon Trevison. He wanted no more trouble at that minute.
“Hell to pay!” he panted as the second man loomed close to him in the darkness; “Trevison’s in the courthouse!”
He heard the other gasp; saw him lunge forward. He struck again, bitterly, and the man went to his knees. He was up again instantly, as Trevison fled into the darkness, crying resonantly:
“Corrigan!” breathed Trevison. He ducked as a flame-spurt split the night; reaching a corner of the shed where he had left his horse as a succession of reports rattled behind him. Corrigan was firing at him. He dared not use his own pistol, lest its flash reveal his whereabouts, and he knew he would have no chance against the odds that were against him. Nor was he intent on murder. He flung himself into the saddle, and for the first time since he had come into Trevison’s possession Nigger knew the bite of spurs earnestly applied. He snorted, leaped, and plunged forward, the clatter of his hoofs bringing lancelike streaks of fire out of the surrounding blackness. Behind him Trevison heard Corrigan raging impotently, profanely. There came another scattering volley. Trevison reeled, caught himself, and then hung hard to the saddle-horn, as Nigger fled into the night, running as a coyote runs from the daylight.