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Updated: May 31, 2025
With difficulty the Mexican dragged the boy from his hold on Doble and carried him to a horse. He swung to the saddle, dragged Keith up in front of him, and rode away at a jog-trot. The youngster was screaming at the top of his lungs. As his horse climbed toward the notch, Otero looked back. Doble had picked up his prisoner and was carrying her into the house. The Mexican formulated his plans.
"Hidin' behind a woman, are you?" he taunted, and again flung the epithet men will not tolerate. At any moment he might fire. Dave caught the wrists of the girl, dragged them down from his neck, and flung her roughly from him to the ground. He pulled out his little bulldog. Doble fired and Dave fell. The outlaw moved cautiously closer, exultant at his marksmanship.
Doble did that, an' then accidental I killed Doble whilst I was shootin' at Mr. Sanders." Dave strode forward, his eyes like great live coals. "What? Say that again!" he cried. "Yessir. I did it accidental when Doble run forward in front of me. Tha's right. I'm plumb sorry I didn't tell the cou't so when you was on trial, Mr. Sanders. I reckon I was scairt to."
I'll go when I'm ready." Doble drank steadily throughout the night. He was the kind of drinker that can take an incredible amount of liquor without becoming helpless. He remained steady on his feet, growing uglier and more reckless every hour. Tied to Doble because he dared not break away from him, Steelman's busy brain began to plot a way to take advantage of this man's weakness for liquor.
The hopeless squalor of it at times had driven him almost mad. As he saw it now, his guilt was of minor importance. If he had not fired the shot that killed George Doble, that was merely a chance detail. What counted against him was that his soul was marked with the taint of the criminal through association and habit of thought. He could reason with this feeling and temporarily destroy it.
"I'm makin' it mine. What have you done with her?" The speech of the younger man took on again the intonation of earlier days. "I'm here to find out." A swish of skirts, a soft patter of feet, and Joyce was beside her friend, clinging to him, weeping in his arms. Doble moved round in a wide circumference. When shooting began he did not want his foe to have the protection of the horse's body.
His eyes swept to Steelman, who had been a negligible factor in his calculations. The man fired again and blew out the light. In the darkness Shorty swept out both guns and fired. His first two shots were directed toward the man behind the desk, the next two at the spot where Doble had been standing. Another gun was booming in the room, perhaps two. Yellow fire flashes ripped the blackness.
A child, a straight girl, an honest woman, would be as safe with him as with simple-hearted old Buck Byington. But Dug Doble it was impossible to predict what he would do. He had a vein of caution in his make-up, but when in drink he jettisoned this and grew ugly. His vanity always a large factor in determining his actions might carry him in the direction of decency or the reverse.
Miller stuck doggedly to his story. The cowpuncher had fired the first shot. He had continued to fire, though he must have seen Doble sink to the ground immediately. Moreover, the testimony of the doctor showed that the fatal shot had taken effect at close range. Just prior to this time there had been an unusual number of killings in Denver.
"We've got the stolen money back, Joy," exploded her father. "We know who took it Dug Doble and that cowboy Shorty and Miller." "But I thought Miller " "He escaped. We caught him and brought him back to town with us." Crawford seized the girl by the shoulders. He was as keen as a boy to share his pleasure. "And Joy better news yet. Miller confessed he killed George Doble.
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