"You, you mean—"
"Oh hurry up, or give me back the gun," retorted Jesse.
"You ain't goin' ter kill me be yer?" begged the miserable captive.
The rancher was fingering the gun at his side with convulsive fingers, his face growing more malignant with deadly hate from moment to moment.
"Bang!"
Sagebrush Sam wavered and plunged forward on his face, dead.
"Good job," commented the desperado.
The rancher had fired the fatal shot without so much as raising the revolver from his hip.
"You ain't no slouch on the trigger," commended the bandit chieftain. "There are two more fellows over there who haven't had enough medicine yet. I observe they are trying to crawl away now. Wait, don't shoot. Bill, straighten them up. Can they stand?"
"I reckon they can," grinned Wild Bill.