Even
this went out, hissing, at last, and they came back with blackened,
singed faces to Calamity and Drew.
The rancher had torn away the coat and shirt of the wounded man, and
now, with much labour, was twisting a tight bandage around his chest. At
every turn Calamity groaned feebly. Kilrain dropped beside his partner,
taking the head between his hands.
"Calamity--pal," he said, "how'd you let a tenderfoot, a damned
tenderfoot, do this?"
The other sighed: "I dunno. I had him covered. I should have sent him to
hell. But sure shootin' is better'n fast shootin'. He nailed me fair and
square while I was blockin' him at the door."
"How d'you feel?"
"Done for, Shorty, but damned glad that-----"
His voice died away in a horrible whisper and bubbles of red foam rose
to his lips.
"God!" groaned Shorty, and then called loudly, as if the strength of his
voice might recall the other, "Calamity!"
The eyes of Calamity rolled up; the wide lips twisted over formless
words; there was no sound from his mouth. Someone was holding a lantern
whose light fell full on the silent struggle.
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