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Updated: May 24, 2025
Then silently he drew his gun from its holster; the thing was madness, but just now there was no sanity in the universe. He could not run; he must not kill Courtot. He dropped the gun behind him and with the heel of his boot thrust it away from him so that it fell into a fissure in the rock. He turned again to watch Courtot coming on.
The Easterner was examining a small pistol that he had drawn from a yellow holster at his waist, so high on his waist that he had been compelled to bend his elbow in an acute angle to get it out. His hands were trembling, whether from the wetting he had received or from doubt as to the rider's intentions, was a question that the rider did not bother with. He looked again at the girl.
Banion's hand was likewise employed at his wet saddle holster, to which he sprang, and perhaps then one man would have been killed but for Bill Jackson, who spurred between. "Make one move an' I drop ye!" he called to Woodhull. "Ye've give yer promise." "All right then, I'll keep it," growled Woodhull. "Ye'd better! Now listen!
With a single, lightning-like move she snatched the weapon from its holster, and at the same instant Rokoff turned back toward her, realizing his peril. She did not dare fire for fear the shot would bring his people about him, and with Rokoff dead she would fall into hands no better than his and to a fate probably even worse than he alone could have imagined.
Above him, through the open network of frames and girders, he could see the control deck, but Miles was nowhere in sight. Something on the opposite side of the ship caught his eye. Miles' space suit hung on its rack, the heavy fish-bowllike space helmet beside it in its open locker. Roger's heart skipped a beat as he noticed the holster for a paralo-ray gun nearby.
Once those sabre-sharp claws got to work, the victim of the lion's charge would be viciously torn. The girl saw the gun fly out of his hands. The lion was too close upon its prey for her to use the pistol. She slipped the weapon back into its holster and picked up the shotgun. Plunging through the bushes she swung the gun and knocked the beast aside from its prey.
So, belt and loaded holster sagging, and large silver spurs clicking and clinking at every step, John Burley sauntered back along the almost deserted street of Sainte Lesse, thinking sometimes of his mules, sometimes of the French language, and every now and then of a dark-eyed, dark-haired girl whose delicately flushed and pensive gaze he had encountered as he had ridden into Sainte Lesse under the old belfry.
He drew out his six-shooter, stuck it into its holster, and placed one foot in a stirrup, preparatory to mounting. Then he turned and spoke gravely to Doubler. "I've done all I could," he said. "You know how you stand and the rest of it is up to you. You can go on, letting Dakota and Sheila pretend to be friendly to you, and some day you'll get wise awful sudden when it's too late.
"If you're tryin' to hang this onto any of my herders, you're ridin' on the wrong side of the river. I reckon you won't have to look far for the gun that got him." And Loring gestured toward the body. Hi Wingle stooped and pulled Fadeaway's gun from its holster. He spun the cylinder, swung it out, and invited general inspection. "Fade never had a chance," he said, lowering the gun.
She had seen many a man whip pistol from holster and dare a mob with lips drawn back in a wolfish grin over his white, even teeth, and kidnappings were the inevitable accompaniment of youth and beauty. Lorraine learned rapidly.
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