But I would not go, quite. Everything seemed to whirl around me, but I drew my right hand pistol and cocked back the flint with fast weakening fingers. Harrison appeared in a fog, and to be going up a steep hill close to me, and then suddenly to be descending a frightful declivity as I raised my weapon slowly. The pavement seemed to heave upward again, and I marked the look on his craven features—for he knew what he was facing—and I pulled the trigger with the sight on his heart.
At that instant something struck the weapon from my hand, and I was aware of Will Byrd standing over me with his sword outstretched.
I was going fast, but I drew my left pistol. Harrison was still standing near me, but appeared to be double. I fired into him but an object seemed to pass between us and something fell heavily to the pavement.
Then I thought I saw the villain sheath his sword and bow to me, with that same sneering smile on his face, and pass away out of sight down the long street. I tried to raise myself to follow him and got to my knees, then I pitched forward—
It was late in the evening when I regained consciousness, and found myself lying on a cot in a house which appeared to be an improvised hospital, as there were many wounded men about me. A wet compress lay upon my chest and each breath I took caused me sharp pain. I looked at the cot next to mine and noticed a familiar figure reclining there, and as I did so it sat up. Then I recognized Will Byrd, but could not tell how either he or I came to be where we were.
He saw my eyes open, and gazed sadly and thoughtfully at me; then he spoke.
"How is it Dick, do you feel better?" he asked.
"Yes," I whispered, "are you hurt too?"
"No, why?"
"What are you lying there for?" Then I suddenly remembered. "Where's Harrison?" I asked faintly, as the affair came back to me.