“I had to do it, Father. It was Dutch or me.”
“Yes, you had to do it.”
“He didn’t give me any choice. Came a-shootin’ before I knew even who he was.”
“I saw what he was doing just in time to hit his arm.”
“I reckon that saved me. You were that quick. I can’t thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, Hugh. Thank God.” He looked soberly down at the dead man. “There, but for His grace, lies Hugh McClintock.”
“Yes,” agreed Hugh solemnly.
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE BALD KNOB STRIKE
The room with the bullet hole in the swing door at the Ormsby House had become a place of pilgrimage. The proprietor of the hotel and its patrons pointed it out with pride to strangers and told the story of how Scot McClintock, left for dead, had come to life by sheer will power and killed one of the murderers through the door without even seeing him.