But Reeve, standing erect like some
duelist of old, his left hand tucked into the hollow of his back, took
the great gambling chance and refused to shoot to kill.
He placed his second shot more effectively, for this time he must stop
that tremendous body, advancing upon him. He found one critical spot.
Between the knee and the thigh, halfway up on the inside of the left
leg, he drove that second bullet with the precision of a surgeon. The
leg crumpled under Bull and sent him pitching forward on his face.
Perhaps the marsh ground was unstable, but it seemed to Pete Reeve
that the very earth quaked beneath his feet as the big man fell. He
swung his gun wide and leaned to see how serious was the damage he had
done. Bleeding would be the greater danger.
But that fraction of a second brought him into another peril. The
giant heaved up on his sound right leg and his sound left arm, and
flung himself forward, two limbs dangling uselessly. With a hideously
contorted face, Bull swung his left arm in a wide circle for a grip
and scooped in Pete Reeve, as the latter sprang back with a cry
of horror.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139