Corrigan was pale and breathless, but he smiled at her and held her off when she essayed to help him brush the dust from his clothing. He did that himself, and mopped his face with a handkerchief.
“It wasn’t fair,” whispered the girl, sympathetically. “I almost wish that you had killed him!” she added, vindictively.
“My, what a fire-eater!” he said with a broad smile. She thought he looked handsomer with the dust upon him, than he had ever seemed when polished and immaculate.
“Are you badly hurt?” she asked, with a concern that made him look quickly at her.
He laughed and patted her arm lightly. “Not a bit hurt,” he said. “Come, those men are staring.”
He escorted her to the step of the private car, and lingered a moment there to make his apology for his part in the trouble. He told her frankly, that he was to blame, knowing that Trevison’s action in riding him down would more than outweigh any resentment she might feel over his mistake in bringing about the clash in her presence.
She graciously forgave him, and a little later she entered the car alone; he telling her that he would be in presently, after he returned from the station where he intended to send a telegram. She gave him a smile, standing on the platform of the car, dazzling, eloquent with promise. It made his heart leap with exultation, and as he went his way toward the station he voiced a sentiment:
“Entirely worth being ridden down for.”
But his jaws set savagely as he approached the station. He did not go into the station, but around the outside wall of it, passing between it and another building and coming at last to the front of the bank building. He had noted that the black horse was still standing in front of the bank building, and that the group of men had dispersed. The street was deserted.
Corrigan’s movements became quick and sinister. He drew a heavy revolver out of a hip pocket, shoved its butt partly up his sleeve and concealed the cylinder and barrel in the palm of his hand. Then he stepped into the door of the bank. He saw Trevison standing at one of the grated windows of the wire netting, talking with Braman. Corrigan had taken several steps into the room before Trevison heard him, and then Trevison turned, to find himself looking into the gaping muzzle of Corrigan’s pistol.