separated to flank him, Tom Hargus over near the corner of the depot,
the other ranging down toward the hotel, not more than fifty yards
between Lambert and either of them.

Intent on drawing Tom Hargus from the shelter of the depot, Lambert ran
along the platform, stopping well beyond Kerr. Until that moment he had
not returned their fire. Now he opened on Tom Hargus, bringing his horse
down at the third shot, swung about and emptied his first gun
ineffectually at the other man.

This fellow charged down on him as Lambert drew his other gun, Tom
Hargus, free of his fallen horse, shooting from the shelter of the rain
barrel at the corner of the depot. Lambert felt something strike his
left arm, with no more apparent force, no more pain, than the flip of a
branch when one rides through the woods. But it swung useless at his
side.

Through the smoke of his own gun, and the dust raised by the man on
horseback, Lambert had a flash of Grace Kerr riding across the middle
background between him and the saloon. He had no thought of her
intention. It was not a moment for speculation with the bullets hitting
his hat.

The man on horseback had come within ten yards of him. Lambert could see
his teeth as he drew back his lips when he fired. Lambert centered his
attention on this stranger, dark, meager-faced, marked by the
unmistakable Mexican taint. His hat flew off at Lambert's first shot as
if it had been jerked by a string; at his second, the fellow threw
himself back in the saddle with a jerk. He fell limply over the high
cantle and lay thus a moment, his frantic horse running wildly away.
Lambert saw him tumble into the road as a man came spurring past the
hotel, slinging his gun as he rode.

Nearer approach identified the belated sheriff. He shouted a warning to
Lambert as he jerked his gun down and fired. Tom Hargus rose from
behind the rain barrel, staggered into the road, going like a drunken
man, his hat in one hand, the other pressed to his side, his head
hanging, his long black hair falling over his bloody face.

In a second Lambert saw this, and the shouting, shooting officer bearing
down toward him. He had the peculiar impression that the sheriff was
submerged in water, enlarging grotesquely as he approached. The slap of
another bullet on his back, and he turned to see Grace Kerr firing at
him with only the width of the platform between them.

It was all smoke, dust, confusion around him, a sickness in his bo