He had gone a dozen steps when someone tripped him. He fell backward,
landing on his shoulders, his right elbow striking hard on the board
floor and knocking the pistol out of his hand.
He saw the men surge forward, and he made a desperate effort to get to
his feet. But he did not succeed. He was on his knees when several
men, throwing themselves at him, landed on top of him. Their combined
weight crushed him to the floor, but he squirmed out of the mass and
got to his feet, striking at the faces he saw around him, worrying the
men hither and yon, dragging them with him as he reeled under savage
blows that were rained on him.
He had torn himself almost free; one man still clung to him, and he was
trying to shake the fellow off, that he might hit him effectively, when
a great weight seemed to fall on his head, blackness surrounded him,
and he pitched face down on the floor.
CHAPTER XIV
TEE VOICE OF THE COYOTE
When Sanderson regained consciousness he was lying on his back on a
board floor.
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