With a grunt of pain, Blakely, using his left hand, whipped a derringer from under his vest.
Again Loudon fired.
Blakely reeled, the derringer spat harmlessly upward, and then Blakely, as his frightened horse reared and plunged, pitched backward out of the saddle and dropped heavily to the ground. Immediately the horse ran away.
Kate, with a sharp cry, flung herself at the prostrate Blakely.
"You've killed him!" she wailed. "Sam—Sam—speak to me!"
But Sam was past speech. He had struck head first and was consequently senseless.
Come running then Jimmy from the bunkhouse, Chuck Morgan from the corrals, Mr. Saltoun and Richie from the office.
"He's dead! He's dead!" was the burden of Kate's shrill cries.
"Let's see if he is," said the practical Richie, dropping on his knees at Blakely's side. "He didn't tumble like a dead man. Just a shake, ma'am, while I look at him. I can't see nothin' with you a-layin' all over him this-a-way. Yo're gettin' all over blood, too. There, now! She's done fainted. That's right, Salt. You take care of her."
The capable Richie made a rapid examination. He looked up, hands on knees, his white teeth gleaming under his brown moustache.