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"You're dead!" he exclaimed. "You're plumb salivated!" He pushed, and the man-target toppled and fell. "Ain't you goin' to bury him?" queried Bailey. Pete whirled. The color ran up his neck and face. "H'lo, Jim." "How'd you know it was me?" Bailey stood up. "Knowed your voice." "Well, come on up. I was wonderin' who was down there settin' off the fireworks.
Pete turned the horse and, spurring him, flung past the target, emptying his gun as he went. Then he dismounted and striding up to within ten yards of the man-target, holstered his gun and stood for a moment as still as a stone itself. Suddenly his hand flashed to his side. Bailey rubbed his eyes. The gun had not come from the holster, yet the rock target was spattered with five more shots.
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