"The only thing that makes Ashby crazy is that he didn't get you."
"He did 'get' me, however," laughed Tom, displaying four bullet holes
through his shirtsleeves, and two more that pierced his hat. "Ashby got
as much of me as I'd want any marksman to get."
Having withdrawn to a distance, the crowd waited.
It was nearly half an hour before Dr. Furniss stepped outside. Now he
walked swiftly over to the edge of the crowd.
"Gentlemen," remarked the physician, "you are justified in feeling very
well pleased that you didn't lynch Ashby. The poor fellow is as insane
as a man could well be. He imagines Mr. Reade has hurt his business and
is determined to kill him. I'll send for a straightjacket and then
we'll hustle him away to the asylum."
At this moment a wild yell sounded from the shack, to be echoed from the
crowd. George Ashby, seemingly possessed of the strength of half a
dozen men, had wrenched himself free of his captors, felling both like a
flash. Then the hotel man leaped to his horse, freeing it and starting
off at a mad gallop.
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