"I reckon you won't blot no more brands!" he cried, triumphantly,
watching both Jerry and Harlan.
The card-players had leaped to their feet and at a signal from Harlan
they surged forward to the bar and formed a barrier between Johnny and
his friends; and as they did so that puncher jerked at his gun, twisting
to half face the crowd. At that instant fire and smoke spurted from
Jerry's side coat pocket and the odor of burning cloth arose. As Johnny
fell, the rustler ducked low and sprang for the door. A gun roared twice
in the front of the room and Jerry staggered a little and cursed as he
gained the opening, but he plunged into the darkness and threw himself
into the saddle on the first horse he found in the small corral.
When the crowd massed, Hopalong leaped at it and strove to tear his way
to the opening at the end of the bar, while the marshal covered Harlan
and the others. Finding that he could not get through. Hopalong sprang
on the shoulder of the nearest man and succeeded in winging the fugitive
at the first shot, the other going wild. Then, frantic with rage and
anxiety, he beat his way through the crowd, hammering mercilessly at
heads with the butt of his Colt, and knelt at his friend's side.
Edwards, angered almost to the point of killing, ordered the crowd
to stand against the wall, and laughed viciously when he saw two men
senseless on the floor.
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