The front door opened, and for a moment he could see the silhouette of a man, etched blackly against the moonlight.
Came the crashing report of a revolver in the room, and the silhouette sagged down heavily.
The flash of the gun had blinded Silver, and the powder smoke choked him. One of these men had shot the other, thinking it was Jack Silver. He heard this man crawling across the floor, but did not try to stop him. Then he heard him run through the kitchen, slam the door shut and go running across the yard.
Silver ran to the front door. The man who had left the house mounted his horse and spurred toward the gate. Silver turned the man over in the doorway, and the white face and staring eyes of McLeese looked up at him. He found McLeese’s gun where he had dropped it on the porch, and went back in the house. He secured the lamp in the kitchen, lighted it and went into the main room.
June was still lying where they had dropped her. Silver closed the front door and came back to her. It was a simple task for him to take the gag and ropes off her and help her to a chair, where she sagged wearily. The gag had cut her lips, and there was blood on her wrists, cut by the ropes.
Silver said nothing. His face was bruised and one sleeve of his shirt was almost torn off. June stared at him, panting nervously, as he calmly rolled a cigaret with steady fingers.
“Why don’t you say something?” she asked, almost hysterically.
He looked at her, a half-smile on his lips.
“I dunno,” he said simply. “Don’t seem to be much to say.”
“Well, what is it all about? Oh, why don’t you get excited? You sit there and roll a cigaret just as though nothing had happened. Who—which one did you shoot?”