“The doctor says he’s got a slim chance,” said Roaring.
“That bullet missed his heart about three inches.”
He turned to Jimmy Moran.
“Where’s your bronc, Jimmy?”
Jimmy told him where he had left it, and Roaring sent one of the Big 4 cowboys to git it. Franklyn Moran went up to the sheriff.
“You going to put him in jail?” he asked.
Roaring cuffed his hat on the side of his head and looked quizzically at Moran. “What do you think?” he asked. “Ain’t there a law ag’in callin’ men to their own door at night and shootin’ ’em down?”
“But—but if Conley shot at him?” spluttered Moran.
“Jimmy ain’t claimed that he did, has he?”
Moran turned to his son.