For several moments he remained silent, but he could hear nothing. He circled the rear of the store and came back to the street between the store and post-office, where he met Roaring Rigby.
“What was that shootin’?” asked Roaring.
“I don’t know who it was,” panted Hashknife. “They darned near got me. Burned me across the neck. I chased him down the alley but he got away. Didn’t somebody fire a shot near the Black Horse Saloon?”
“Yeah—one shot. I can’t find out who fired it.”
“Foxy devils,” said Hashknife. “That shot was to draw me out of your office, Roarin’. I bit on it.”
“Well, I’ll be darned!” exploded Roaring. “Could it have been Horse-Collar or Lovely?”
“No, they’re both in the office. Let’s go down there.”
They went cautiously past the alley and entered the office. Wind River Jim was lying flat on his back in the middle of the office floor, his face bathed in gore. Around his neck was Lovely Lucas’ blue silk muffler, tied loosely, and inside the loop of this was a long-barrel Colt revolver, which Horse-Collar Fields was twisting around and around, shutting off Wind River’s breath entirely, while Lovely sat on Wind River’s legs to keep him from jerking.
“You fools!” yelled Roaring.
He knocked Horse-Collar aside and untwisted the muffler as quickly as possible. Horse-Collar landed against the wall and stared at Roaring indignantly.