He tried to lift the dead man, to edge him closer toward the table where the gun lay.

But, considering the peril of exposing himself, he found the task beyond him.

He bent, peering at me under Wright's arm.
Sampson's eyes were the eyes of a man who meant to kill me.

There was never any mistaking the strange and terrible light of eyes like those.
More than once I had a chance to aim at them, at the top of Sampson's head, at a strip of his side.

But I had only two shells left.