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Updated: May 4, 2025
Many in the room saw the expression of surprise in Denver Ed's eye as he pitched forward in a heap at Calumet's feet. There were others who saw Garvey raise the six-shooter which he had drawn from Calumet's holster. All heard the hammer click impotently on the empty chambers; saw Calumet's own weapon flash around and cover Garvey; saw the flame-spurt and watched Garvey crumple and sink.
He struck again, bitterly, and the man went to his knees. He was up again instantly, as Trevison fled into the darkness, crying resonantly: "This way, boys here he is!" "Corrigan!" breathed Trevison. He ducked as a flame-spurt split the night; reaching a corner of the shed where he had left his horse as a succession of reports rattled behind him. Corrigan was firing at him.
Some warning, certainly, was flashed to that mysterious sixth sense which the people of the wild, man or beast, seem sometimes to be endowed with. He wheeled like lightning, his revolver seeming to leap up from his belt with the same motion. But in the same fraction of a second that his eyes met Henderson's they met the white flame-spurt of Henderson's rifle and then, the dark.
His voice died in a quick gasp as Trevison struck with the butt of his pistol. The man fell, silently. Another voice sounded outside. Trevison crouched at the doorway. A form darkened the opening. Trevison struck, missed, a streak of fire split the night the newcomer had used his pistol. It went off again the flame-spurt shooting ceilingward, as Levins clinched the man from the rear.
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