"Hang on to him," he said, turning away.
George Pollock sauntered easily down the street. At Supervisor Plant's
front gate, he turned and passed within. Bob saw him walk rapidly up the
front walk, and pound on Plant's bedroom door. This, as usual in the
mountains, opened directly out on the verandah. With an exclamation Bob
sprang forward, dropping the hair rope. He was in time to see the
bedroom door snatched open from within, and Plant's huge figure,
white-robed, appear in the doorway. The Supervisor was evidently angry.
"What in hell do you want?" he demanded.
"You," said the mountaineer.
He dropped his hand quite deliberately to his holster, flipped the
forty-five out to the level of his hip, and fired twice, without looking
at the weapon. Plant's expression changed; turned blank. For an
appreciable instant he tottered upright, then his knees gave out beneath
him and he fell forward with a crash. George Pollock leaned over him.
Apparently satisfied after a moment's inspection, the mountaineer
straightened, dropped his weapon into the holster, and turned away.
All this took place in so short a space of time that Bob had not moved
five feet from the moment he guessed Pollock's intention to the end of
the tragedy.
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