The deputy's body doubled forward--Sanderson's fist
had been driven into his stomach. His gun clattered to the floor; he
reached out, trying to grasp Sanderson, who evaded him and struck
upward viciously.
The deputy slid to the floor, and Sanderson stood beside the table, his
gun menacing the deputy's followers.
Sanderson had worked fast. Possibly the deputy's men had anticipated
no resistance from Sanderson, or they had been stunned with the
rapidity with which he had placed their leader out of action.
Not one of them had drawn a weapon. They watched Sanderson silently as
he began to back away from them, still covering them with his pistol.
Sanderson had decided to desert Owen; the man had proved a traitor, and
could not expect any consideration. Owen might talk--Sanderson
expected he would talk; but he did not intend to jeopardize his liberty
by staying to find out.
He stepped backward cautiously, for he saw certain of the men begin to
move restlessly. He cautioned them, swinging the muzzle of his pistol
back and forth, the crowd behind him splitting apart as he retreated.
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