There
were tales of gun experts doing more remarkable feats. Wild Bill,
in his prime, from the corner of his eye saw a man draw a white
hankerchief, thought it a gun, whirled on his heel, and killed a
harmless stranger.
He who stops to think can rarely act. It was true of Hervey. Then
Perris, at the very door of the hut, dropped the flopping saddle to
the ground and the foreman saw that no holster swung at the hip of his
man. Joy leaped in him. There was no thought for the cruel cowardice
of his act but only overmastering gratitude that the enemy should be
thus delivered helpless into his hand. Through the split part of a
second that thrill passed tingling through and through him, then he
shouted: "Perris!" and at the same instant whipped out the gun and
fired pointblank.
A snake will rattle before it strikes and a dog will snarl before it
bares its teeth: instinct forced Hervey to that exulting cry and even
as the gun came into his hand he saw Perris spin sideways. He fired
and the figure at the door lunged down at him. The shoulder struck
Hervey in the upturned face and smashed him backwards so that his hand
flew out to break the force of the fall, knocked on the floor, and the
revolver shot from the unnerved fingers.
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