Billy Wingo was the fourth man to reach Riley. The boy, for he was not yet twenty-one, had been turned over on his back on the sidewalk. He was unconscious. Samson, the Green-Front Store owner, was bandaging a wound in Riley's neck.
"Lucky," observed Samson, "just missed the jugular."
"Where else is he shot?" queried Billy, his eyes on the blood-soaked front of Riley's shirt.
"Right shoulder," Samson informed him.
"I heard three shots," said Billy. "Two was close together but the last one was maybe ten seconds later."
"I only found the two holes," declared Samson.
But when Billy and another man picked up Riley to carry him to the hotel, Billy found where the third shot had gone. It had penetrated Riley's back on the left side, bored between two ribs, missed the wall of the stomach by a hair and made its exit an inch above the waistband of the trousers.
The marshal, who had seen the crowd going into the hotel, arrived as Billy and Samson were making Riley as comfortable as possible on a cot in one of the hotel rooms.
The marshal, whose surname being Herring was commonly called "Red," thrust out a lower lip as he surveyed the man on the bed.
"Even break, I hear," said the marshal.