She flew to obey.
The fat man opened the shirt.
“Look out for the blood,” Bob said, still faintly. “Ouch!”
Blister’s hand was traveling slowly next to the flesh. “N-no blood here,” he said.
“Why, I felt it.”
“R-reckon not, son.” Blister exposed his hand in the moonlight.
The evidence bore out what he said.
“Maybe it’s bleeding internally,” Bob said.
Larson had picked up the belt they had unstrapped from Dillon’s waist. He was examining it closely. His keen eyes found a dent in the buckle. The buckle had been just above the spot where Bob complained of the pain.
“Maybe it ain’t,” Larson said. “Looks like he hit yore belt an’ the bullet went flyin’ wild.”