The big gun roared like a cannon in that small room. Hashknife had the muzzle pointed at the floor and, as the gun jerked in his hands, he glanced toward the door in time to see Wind River Jim, Lovely Lucas and Horse-Collar Fields.
Wham!
Horse-Collar Fields had yanked out his gun and fired so quickly that the report of his gun was a thudding echo of Hashknife’s shot.
Wham!
Lovely Lucas’ gun went off before it was out of the holster.
“You-u-u-u-u-u-u damn fools!” howled Roaring. He went over backward, clawing at his face.
Hashknife sprang sidewise, collided with Sleepy, and they went sprawling together, while the three drunken cow-punchers backed out, fell off the sidewalk and proceeded to empty their guns at anything and everything in sight. Hashknife and Sleepy sat up, staring at each other; while Roaring crawled to his feet and peeked over the top of his upset chair.
“My Lord!” exploded Sleepy.
“Where’d the nigger come from?”
Roaring’s face, except for the tip-end of his nose, was as black as ebony. He spat disgustedly and wiped the back of a hand across his lips.