Then he kneeled beside Strann.
He was humming as he opened Jerry's shirt; he was humming as he pulled from his bag--for Fatty was almost as much doctor as he was marshal, cowpuncher, miner, and gambler--a roll of cotton and another roll of bandages.

The crowd grouped around him, fascinated, and at his directions some of them brought water and others raised and turned the body while the marshal made the bandages; Jerry Strann was unconscious.
Fatty Matthews began to intersperse talk in his humming.
"You was plugged from in front--my beauty--was you ?" grunted Fatty, and then running the roll of bandage around the wounded man's chest he hummed a bar of: _"Sweet Adeline, my Adeline, At night, dear heart, for you I pine."_ "Was Jerry lookin' the other way when he was spotted ?" asked Fatty of the bystanders.

"O'Brien, you seen it ?" O'Brien cleared his throat.
"I didn't see nothin'," he said mildly, and began to mop his bar, which was already polished beyond belief.
"Well," muttered Fatty Matthews, "all these birds get it.

And Jerry was some overdue.

Lew, you seen it ?" "Yep." "Some drunken bum do it ?" Lew leaned to the ear of the kneeling marshal and whispered briefly.
Fatty opened his eyes and cursed until his panting forced him to break off and hum.
"Beat him to the draw ?" he gasped at length.
"Jerry's gun was clean out before the stranger made a move," asserted Lew.
"It ain't possible," murmured the deputy, and hummed softly: _"In all my dreams, your fair face beams."_ He added sharply, as he finished the bandaging: "Where'd he head for ?" "No place," answered Lew.