But that good arm was his prop, and when he took it off the ground he fell back.

His hand come away empty from his belt.
The big six-shooter he had been feeling fur wasn't in its holster, anyhow.

It had fell out when he tumbled.

I picked it up in the road jest a few feet from his shot-gun, and stood there with it in my hand, looking down at him.
"Well," he says, in a drawly kind of voice, slow and feeble, but looking at me steady and trying to raise himself agin, "yo' can finish yo' little job now--yo' shot me from the darkness, and now yo' done got my pistol.

I reckon yo' better shoot AGIN." "I don't want to rub it in none," I says, "with you down and out, but from what I seen around this town to-night I guess you and your own gang got no GREAT objections to shooting from the dark yourselves." "Why don't yo' shoot then ?" he says.