"It's that Oasis gang," Johnny responded. He fired, and growled with
disappointment. "Harlan's at the head of it," he added.
"Edwards--told Harlan to--get out of--town," Jackson began.
"An' to take his gang with him," Johnny interposed quickly to save
Jackson from the strain. "They had till dark. Guess the rest. Oh, you
_coyote_!" he shouted, staggering back. There was a report farther down
the barricade and Neal called out, "I got him, Nelson; he's done. How
are you?"
"Mad! Mad!" yelled Johnny, touching his twice-wounded shoulder and
dancing with rage and pain. "Right in the same place! Oh, wait! _Wait!_
Hey, gimme a rifle--I can't do nothing with a Colt at this range; my
name ain't Hopalong," and he went slamming around the room in hot search
of what he wanted.
"There ain't--no more--Johnny," feebly called Jackson, raising slightly
to ease himself. "You can have--my gun purty--soon. I won't be able--to
use it--much longer."
"Why don't Buck an' Hoppy hurry up!" snarled Johnny.
"Be a long time--mebby," mumbled Jackson, his trembling hands trying
to steady the rifle. "They're all--around us. _Ah_, missed!" he intoned
hoarsely, trying to pump the lever with unobeying hands. "I can't
last--much--" the words ceased abruptly and the clatter of the rifle on
the floor told the story.
Johnny stumbled over to him and dragged him aside, covering the upturned
face with his own sombrero, and picked up the rifle.
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