The man was lying just where the lamp-light streamed out from the window, but his face was in shadow.

"Oh, it's that Swede," he added, and rose.

"I'll get somebody; I believe he's dead." He left the Pilgrim standing there and hurried to the door of the hotel office.
In any other locality a shot would have brought on the run every man who heard it; but in a "cow-town," especially on a dance night, shots are as common as shouts.

In Hardup that night there had been periodical outbursts which no one, not even the women, minded in the least.
So it was not until Billy opened the door, put his head in, and cried: "Come alive! A fellow's been shot, right out here," that there was a stampede for the door.
The Pilgrim still stood beside the other, waiting.

Three or four stooped over the man on the ground.