“Come on, then. And don’t forget that I’ve got this right here, ready for use.”
Martin thrust the six-shooter into his hip pocket with a flourish, and Nick had another shiver.
They passed out into the hall and downstairs to the office.
At the counter Martin halted for a word with the clerk.
“How’s that man who got shot?”
“Poorly, sir, poorly,” replied the clerk.
“Will he be in bed long?”
“He may never leave his bed, Mr. Martin.”
“Tough, mighty tough,” mused the kind-hearted Mr. Martin, and passed out to his waiting auto.