Masten began to give way. Half a dozen times he broke ground, or slipped to one side or the other. It was unavailing. Blows were coming at him now from all angles, ripping, tearing, crashing blows that seemed to increase in force as the fight went on. One of them caught Masten just below the ear on the right side. He reeled and went to his haunches, and dizzy, nauseated, he sat for an instant, trying to fix the world correctly in his vision, for it was all awry—trees, the plains, himself—all were dancing. Dimly he sensed the form of Randerson looming over him. He still was able to grasp the danger that menaced him, and reeling, he threw himself headlong, to escape Randerson, landing on his side on the ground, and with an inarticulate shriek of fury, he pulled the small caliber pistol from his hip pocket, aimed it at the shadowy form of his adversary and pressed the trigger.
And then it seemed that an avalanche had struck him; that he was whirled along by it, then buried under it.
Evidently he had been buried for a long time, for when he opened his eyes the dense blackness of the Western night had descended. He felt a dull, heavy pain in his right wrist, and he raised it—it seemed to have been crushed. He laid the hand down again, with a groan, and then he heard a voice. Looking up, he saw the shadowy figure of his conqueror standing over him.
“I reckon I’ve handed it to you pretty bad,” said Randerson. “But you had it comin’ to you. If you hadn’t tried to play the skunk at the last minute, you’d have got off easier. I reckon your hand ain’t so active as it’s been—I had to pretty near stamp it off of you—you would keep pullin’ the trigger of that pop-gun. Do you reckon you c’n get up now, an’ get on your horse?”
Masten felt himself lifted; he did not resist. Then he felt the saddle under him; he made an effort and steadied himself. Then, still only half conscious he rode, reeling in the saddle, toward a light that he saw in the distance, which, he dimly felt, must come from the Flying W ranchhouse.
CHAPTER XIV
THE ROCK AND THE MOONLIGHT
Randerson did not leave the scene of the fight immediately. He stood for a long time, after buckling on his belt and pistols, looking meditatively toward the break in the canyon beyond which was Catherson’s shack.