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Snecker a second later flashed into movement. "Steele blurred in my sight. His action couldn't be followed. But I saw his gun, waving up, flame red once twice and the reports almost boomed together. "Blome bent forward, arm down, doubled up, and fell over the table and slid to the floor. "But Snecker's gun cracked with Steele's last shot. I heard the bullet strike Steele.
"Don't pick it up," called Steele; his command would have checked anyone save an insane man. For an instant it even held Snecker. On his knees, right arm hanging limp, left extended, and face ghastly with agony and fiendish fury, he was certainly an appalling sight. "'Bo, you're courtin' death, called a hard voice from the crowd. "'Snecker, wait. Don't make me kill you! cried Steele swiftly.
'You're still a boy. Surrender! You'll outlive your sentence many years. I promise clemency. Hold, you fool! "But Snecker was not to be denied the last game move. He scrabbled for his gun. Just then something, a breathtaking intuition I'll never know what made me turn my head. I saw the bartender deliberately aim a huge gun at Steele. If he had not been so slow, I would have been too late.
He went as swiftly as he had come, and was followed by the slender fellow. As far as it was possible for me to be sure, I identified these two as Snecker and his son. The others, however, remained. Blome removed his mask, which action was duplicated by the two rustlers who had stayed with him. They were both young, bronzed, hard of countenance, not unlike cowboys.
"Your father and Judge Owens and I were there in consultation with three ranchers from out of town. Then that damned ranger stalked in dragging Snecker, the fellow who hid here in the house. He had arrested Snecker for alleged assault on a restaurant-keeper named Laramie. Snecker being obviously innocent, he was discharged. Then this ranger began shouting his insults. Law was a farce in Fairdale.
Inside Laramie was lying on the floor, with a bloody bruise on his face. He did not appear to be dangerously hurt. "Bo Snecker! He hit me and went after the cash-drawer," said Laramie, laboring to his feet. "Are you hurt much?" queried Duane. "I guess not. But Bo needn't to have soaked me. I've been robbed before without that." "Well, I'll take a look after Bo," replied Duane.
It was to go boldy into the saloon, ask for the rustler, first pretend I had a reply from Morton and then, when I had Snecker's ear, whisper a message supposedly from Sampson. If Snecker was too keen to be decoyed I could at least surprise him off his guard and kill him, then run for my horse. The plan seemed clever to me.
But somebody in the crowd killed him before he could get goin'. I didn't see who fired that shot, an' neither did anybody else. But the crowd broke an' run. Steele dragged Bo Snecker down to jail an' locked him up." Morton concluded his narrative, and then evidently somewhat dry of tongue, he produced knife and tobacco and cut himself a huge quid.
"Who're you?" asked Duane, quietly. "Bo Snecker," he said. "What'd you hide here for?" He appeared to grow sullen. "Reckoned I'd be as safe in Longstreth's as anywheres." "Ranger, what'll you do with him?" Lawson queried, as if uncertain, now the capture was made. "I'll see to that," replied Duane, and he pushed Snecker in front of him out into the court.
Exultation would have been involuntary then but for the sudden shock, and then the cold settling of temper, the breathless suspense. Snecker pulled his huge bay and pounded to halt abreast of me. Luck favored me. Had I ever had anything but luck in these dangerous deals? Snecker seemed to fume; internally there was a volcano.
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