"
The door opened and framed McGurk. He did not start, seeing Pierre.
He said: "None of the rest of them had the guts even to bring me the
message, eh?"
Pierre shrugged his shoulders. It was a mighty effort, but he was able
to look his man fairly in the eyes. "All right, lad. How long is it
going to take you to clear out of the country?"
"That's not the message," answered a voice which Pierre did not
recognize as his own.
"Out with it, then."
"It's in the leather on my hip."
And he went for his gun. Even as he started his hand he knew that he
was too slow for McGurk, yet the finest splitsecond watch in the world
could not have caught the differing time they needed to get their guns
out of the holsters.
Just a breath before Pierre fired there was a stunning blow on his
right shoulder and another on his hip. He lurched to the floor, his
revolver clattering against the wood as he fell, but falling, he
scooped up the gun with his left and twisted.
That movement made the third shot of McGurk fly wide and Pierre fired
from the floor and saw a spasm of pain contract the face of
the outlaw.
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