Hashknife quickly scratched a match and stepped over to the table, where he lighted the oil lamp. Stretched out on the floor, between the table and the door, was Scotty McKay, with blood oozing from a bruise on his head.
As they stared at him he groaned and tried to lift himself up. Quickly they placed him on a cot, and Slim ran to the jail door, which was sagging open. The cell was empty—Rance McCoy was gone.
Slim came back and looked at Scotty, who was staring blankly at them and trying to feel of his head.
“Rance is gone,” said Slim. “How bad are yuh hurt, Scotty?”
“What in hell happened?” asked Scotty painfully.
“What do you know?” asked Slim.
Scotty looked blankly around, shaking his head.
“I dunno, Slim. I’m all blood! Who hit me?”
“There’s some whiskey in my desk, Chuck,” said Slim.
Chuck got the bottle and gave Scotty a big drink. It brightened him up quickly.