But, swiftly as he drew, Hashknife shaded him by a second and fired —— from his hip. Blue spun off the porch, splintering one of the porch-posts with his misdirected bullet.
Spot Easton had thrown himself sidewise and fired across his horse’s neck, but his horse threw its head wildly, and the bullet buzzed through the doorway—doing no damage. A second later one of the cowboys crashed his horse into Easton’s mount, knocking Easton from his saddle.
Doc Clevis, insane from the disclosures, and knowing what it would mean, drew a heavy pistol from under his coat and spurred straight at the porch, only to meet Skelton’s riot-gun at close range. He was literally blown out of his saddle.
From the ground, among the milling horses, Spot Easton shot wildly at Sleepy, who was churning up the dirt around Easton’s head with bullets. Hagen fired once, and his bullet ripped along Hashknife’s forearm just as Hashknife shot. The jar of the bullet threw Hashknife’s gun far enough aside to miss Hagen but caught his horse, which whirled wildly, unseating its rider. Hagen’s foot hung in the stirrup.
Bucking and kicking, the bronco whirled into the tangle of tombstones where Hagen fell free. Easton’s gun was empty and he tried to fight his way out of the milling horses, but Sleepy dove after him and, locked together, they rolled into the open.
Dell Blackwood forced his horse to the porch and held up his hands.
“I’m out of it,” he yelled. “I’m admittin’ that I stole some 33 calves for Easton, but I never shot nobody.”
He tossed his reins to the ground and slid out of his saddle.
Came the rattle of a wagon, and Mrs. Frosty Snow and Jane drove into the yard. Two cowboys helped Sleepy rope Spot Easton, and then all eyes turned to the two women in the wagon.
“Lonesome Lee, here’s yore daughter!” called Mrs. Snow.