Neale did not
waste many words. He struck Shurd a blow that staggered him, and
would have followed it up with more had not the man, suddenly
furious, plunged away to pick up a heavy stake with which he made at
Neale to brain him.
Neale could not escape. He yelled at Shurd, trying to intimidate
him.
Then came a shot from behind. It broke Shurd's arm. The stake fell
and the man began to bawl curses.
"Get out of heah!" called Larry King, advancing slowly. The maddened
Shurd tried to use the broken arm, perhaps to draw on King.
Thereupon the cowboy, with gun low and apparently not aiming, shot
again, this time almost tearing Shurd's arm off. Then he prodded
Shurd with the cocked gun. The man turned ghastly. He seemed just
now to have realized the nature of this gaunt flaming-eyed cowboy.
"Shore your mind ain't workin'," said Larry. "Get out of heah. Mozey
over to thet camp doctor or you'll never need one."
Shurd backed away, livid and shaking, and presently he ran.
"Red! ..." expostulated Neale. "You--you shot him all up! You nearly
killed him."
"Why in hell don't you pack a gun?" drawled Larry.
"Red, you're--you're--I don't know what to call you. I'd have licked
him, club and all."
"Mebbe," replied the cowboy, as he sheathed the big gun. "Neale.
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