He walked over to Hashknife and looked down at him, his face registering great satisfaction. Lee Yung was on his knees beside Hashknife, examining his head.
“Not hurt much,” said the Chinaman. “He’ll wake up in a few minutes.”
Kohler grinned with satisfaction and stepped back to the window. His expression changed and he darted for the door, mouthing a curse. He flung open the door and stepped out, swinging up his rifle.
There was only one horse in the yard and no dead man. About two hundred yards down the road went Sleepy, riding madly toward Pinnacle. Kohler threw up his rifle and emptied the magazine in a wild attempt to drop either horse or rider, while Baldy ran out to Hashknife’s tall gray and mounted hurriedly. He was going to try and overtake Sleepy.
But he reckoned without the gray, which only admitted of one master. Baldy had hardly settled in the saddle when the gray whirled wildly and lunged into a bucking orgy that was a revelation even to those hard riders.
Baldy stayed five jumps and then went end over end, falling on his hands and knees, skinning his chin and otherwise paying well for his temerity. Baldy’s gun went spinning away, while the tall gray trotted down toward the corral, holding up its head to keep from stepping on the reins.
Jack Baum helped Baldy to his feet. The boss of the K-10 looked as if he had stuck his chin against a grindstone, and his knees and hands were badly bruised. He staggered into the house and flopped into a chair, while Lee Yung brought water and towels.
“This is a hell of a mess!” wailed Baldy. “Stevens has gone back to town, and we’ll have the whole damn works on our trail.”
“You shot him, didn’t yuh?” asked Kohler. “You said yuh did.”
“I seen him fall,” declared Baum. “I didn’t know what it was all about. He sure fell like he was killed.”