"Step out this way, Sandy! And step lively."
The northerner shrugged and looked belligerent. Steve moistened his
lips.
"You can't bluff me--" began the northerner.
And Steve knew that, having gone this far, he could not stop at
bluffing. And he knew that he must not seem to hesitate.
"I can shoot as straight as most men," he said smoothly. "But
sometimes I miss an inch or two at this distance. You men who don't
want to take any unnecessary chances had better give Sandy a little
more elbow-room!"
The stoop-shouldered man squared himself a little, jerked up his head,
took on a fresh air of defiance. Slowly Steve lifted the muzzle of his
gun--slowly a man drew back from the northerner, a man fell away to the
right, a man drew a hasty pace back at the left. He was left standing
in the middle of the open doorway. He shifted a little, doubled his
fists at his sides, twisted his head.
Again a noise from Woods's cabin. Steve saw that the door had quietly
opened six inches. There was a quick movement within; the door was
flung wide open. Woods was standing in the opening, a rifle in his
hands, the barrel trained on Steve's chest. Steve saw the look in
Woods's eye, whirled and fired first. The rifle bullet cut whistling
high through the air; Woods dropped the rifle and reeled and went down
under the impact of a leaden missile from a forty-five calibre
revolver.
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