He moved to the window. Lassiter was nowhere in sight.
“Flat against the house between the window and the door,” he decided; then aloud to Freel, “Anyone with you?”
“Not a soul,” Freel lied.
“Better so; maybe we can figure out some little bet whereby it would be to your advantage to help me come clear of this charge.” He was now fully clothed and he crossed to the door without permitting his boot heels to touch the floor. “Can’t find a match,” he complained, fumbling at the catch. “Come in and strike a light while I hop into my clothes. I’m in my nightie.” He opened the door, standing back from the streak of moonlight which streamed through. Freel would shoot if he saw that Carver was already dressed.
“I’ll just wait here,” Freel said.
“And pot me as I step out,” Carver mentally completed.
“You’ll be out on bond in an hour,” Freel resumed. His head was within a foot of the door as he attempted to peer inside.
Carver swung his gun with deadly precision and Freel collapsed without a word as the heavy weapon descended solidly upon his skull. Before the deputy had fairly struck the ground Carver was peering round the door jamb with the gun levelled on Lassiter who was flattened against the house some three feet from the door.
“Steady! Let it slide out of your hand!” Carver ordered.
Lassiter’s slow brain had scarcely grasped the fact that his plans had gone amiss, and even as the hand which held his gun relaxed in response to the order, Carver took one swift half step round the door and swung his own weapon again.