He saw Antrim stretched out on the floor of the cabin, face
down and motionless. He stepped into the cabin, turned the outlaw over,
grinned saturninely, and then went out to where Lawler stood. His eyes
were aglow with concern.
When he reached the corner he saw Lawler bending over, picking up the
pistol that had dropped from his hand a few seconds before. Lawler's
face was pale, but he grinned broadly at Shorty as the latter came up to
him.
"I saw what was happening but I couldn't throw in with you. I reckon
Antrim hit me mighty hard. In my right shoulder. I was trying to change
my gun to the other hand, when I dropped it. I didn't seem to be able to
get it again--just then." He grinned. "Lucky you came, Shorty," he added
jocosely.
Shorty's lips grimmed. "I reckon it's lucky I'm here right now!" he said
shortly. "You're hit bad, Lawler!"
He led Lawler into the cabin, where he tore away the latter's shirt and
exposed the wound--high up on the shoulder.
After a swift examination, Shorty exclaimed with relief.
"It ain't so bad, after all. She bored through that big muscle. Must
have struck like a batterin' ram. No wonder you was weak an' dizzy for a
minute or so. There's a hole big enough to stick your hand through. But
she ain't dangerous, Boss!"
Shorty had not been touched by the bullets the outlaws had sent at him.
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