The unexpected appearance of Shorty startled Krell and Selden. Surprise
showed in their faces as they paused for an infinitesimal space and
looked at him.
And then their guns roared.
Shorty, however, had anticipated them. His guns went off simultaneously,
slightly in advance of theirs, belching fire and smoke in a continuous
stream.
Shorty did not seem to be hit by the bullets from the guns of the
outlaws; he seemed to pay no attention to them whatever.
But the outlaws ceased shooting. Krell staggered, his guns dropped from
his hands, and he stood, for an instant, looking foolishly at Shorty,
his face becoming ashen. Then, without uttering a word, he lunged gently
forward, his legs doubling at the knees, and sank into the dust in a
huddled heap.
Selden had been hit hard, too. The shock of Shorty's first bullet
striking him had turned him partially around, so that his left side was
toward Shorty. He had lurched forward a little; and was turning, trying
to use the gun in his left hand, when another bullet struck him. He
grunted, stood slowly erect, and then fell backward stiffly.
Shorty ran to him and to Krell, scanning their faces with savage
intentness. When he saw that neither of them would bother him again, he
leaped around the corner of the cabin and cautiously peered into the
doorway.
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