They were not more than a hundred feet from him, as they swung their horses into the street, and, without any warning, Steil drew a gun, jerked his horse to a standstill, and deliberately shot at Hashknife.
The tall cowboy jerked back, quickly crumpled at the knees and sprawled on the sidewalk. Steil’s gun was lifted for a second shot, but now he whirled his horse and they went racing out of town in a cloud of dust.
Sleepy and Jack almost fell off the counter when the shot was fired, and ran swiftly to the door. There was only a screen of dust to show that the riders were leaving town. Several men had run out of the Totem Saloon, and Sudden Smithy was running up the street from the sheriff’s office.
Sleepy was the first to reach Hashknife and turn him over.
“My —— where did he hit yuh?” panted Sleepy, his face white with the fear of losing his pal.
He began yanking at Hashknife’s shirt, when Hashknife sat up and reached for his hat.
“Hey? What the ——!” blurted Sleepy.
“Stumbled,” explained Hashknife. “Stubbed my toe.” He got to his feet and dusted off his knees.
“Hello, sheriff—” handing him the brand registry—“this belongs to you, I reckon. I had it in my hand when they chased me last night, and I was bringin’ it to yuh.”
“Uh-huh.” Sudden accepted the book wonderingly. “Yeah, thanks. Now, what in —— was goin’ on around here? Who was doin’ the shootin’?”