Once more Drew demanded, “What was that?”
“I-I saw a hand, half an arm, a-a gun,” Johnny stammered. “I shot—shot an arrow at the arm.”
“A hand, an arm, a gun?” Drew was plainly bewildered.
“The gun was aimed at you.”
“Where?”
“There. Over there in the shadows.”
Gripping his gun tight, Drew threw the light of his electric torch into those shadows. “No one there,” he muttered. “You were dreaming. But no. I heard something.
“And look!” he cried, springing forward. “Here’s the gun. He dropped it. Fled. Thought the Devil was after him. No wonder, when you hunted him with ‘Silent Murder.’
“But I say, boy!” he exclaimed, gripping Johnny’s hand till it hurt. “You saved my life. I’ll not forget that!”
“We’ll just take this along,” he said a moment later as he picked up a steel blue sixshooter with a six inch barrel.