It was his last word to her. He swept the girl back against the shelter of the wall and ran crouching toward the entrance.
A bullet zipped—a second—a third. He stumbled, but did not fall. Turning, he came back, dodging like a hunted fox. As he passed her, Melissy saw that his face was ghastly. He ran with a limp.
A second time she heard the cackle of laughter. Guns cracked. Still the doomed man pushed forward. He went down, struck in the body, but dragged himself to his feet and staggered on. 272
All this time he had seen nobody at whom he could fire. Not a shot had come from his revolver. He sank behind a rock for shelter. The ping of a bullet on the shale beside him brought the tortured man to his feet. He looked wildly about him, the moon shining on his bare head, and plunged up the cañon.
And now it appeared his unseen tormentors were afraid he might escape them. Half a dozen shots came close together. Boone sank to the ground, writhed like a crushed worm, and twisted over so that his face was to the moonlight.
Melissy ran forward and knelt beside him.
“They’ve got me ... in half a dozen places.... I’m going fast.”
“Oh, no ... no,” the girl protested.
“Yep.... Surest thing you know.... I did you dirt onct, girl. And I’ve been a bad lot—a wolf, a killer.”
“Never mind that now. You died to save me. Always I’ll remember that.”