Pete jerked his hand free, but in that lost
instant a gun roared in the doorway. He crumpled to the floor. The
heavy-shouldered man, followed by two officers, stepped into the room
and glanced about.
"Thought there was two? Where's the other guy?" queried the policeman.
The man on the floor rose and picked up his gun.
"Well, we got one, anyhow. Bill, 'phone the chief that one of 'em got
away. Have 'em send the wagon. This kid here is done for, I guess."
"He went for his gun," said the heavy-shouldered man. "It's a dam'
good thing you went down with that door. Gave me a chance to get him."
"Here's their stuff," said an officer, kicking Pete's pack that lay
corded on the floor.
"Well, Tim," said the man who had shouldered the door down, "you stay
here till the wagon comes. Bill and I will look around when he gets
back. Guess the other one made for the line. Don't know how he worked
it. Keep the crowd out."
"Is he all in?" queried the officer.
"No; he's breathin' yet. But he ain't got long. He's a young bird to
be a killer."
Late that afternoon Pete was taken from the Emergency to the General
Hospital.
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