Hashknife turned Butch over. The bullet had struck him over the right eye, knocking away a generous chunk of his head, and from there it cut a nasty-looking furrow along the side of the head to a point just above his ear. He was bleeding freely, and while the shock had knocked him out, there was nothing serious about it.
Kid Glover was a sight. As far as Hashknife could determine, the Kid had borne the brunt of the heavy chair. But he had evidently recovered sufficiently to shoot Butch and to stagger outside, trying to get away.
CHAPTER XIX—PART OF THE TRUTH
Hashknife stood up from his examination and grinned at Slim, who didn’t know yet what it was all about.
“Where does Butch figure in this?” he asked. “Was he tryin’ to protect Glover?”
They turned at a sound and saw Sleepy at the doorway, gun in hand.
“I heard some shootin’,” he said simply, and came in to look at Butch and the Kid.
“I crowned the Kid with a chair,” said Hashknife. “He got me first. Knocked me down and tied me up, but he don’t know much about ropes. Then him and Butch decided to throw in together, put me out of my misery and clear out; but I got loose and smashed a chair on the Kid’s head. I think Butch decided to get back in the house and recover his gun, and the Kid shot him in the dark, not knowin’ who he was.”
The Kid blinked his eyes and sat up, rubbing his head. He squinted painfully at Hashknife, shifted his eyes to Slim and Sleepy, and then looked at Butch. The Kid was not shamming—he was very sick.
“You shot Butch,” said Hashknife.