The high-powered rifle bullet whipped cleanly through his
shoulder, breaking no bone and tearing no ligament, and the flesh closed
swiftly. Even Vic's mind carried no burden to oppress him in care for the
future or regret for the past, for if he occasionally remembered the limp
body of Hansen on the floor of Captain Lorrimer's saloon he could shrug the
picture into oblivion. It had been fair fight, man to man, with all the
odds in favor of Blondy, who had been allowed to pull his gun first. If Vic
thought about the future at all, it was with a blind confidence that some
time and in some unrevealed way he would get back to Alder and marry Betty
Neal. In the meantime, as the days of the spring went mildly by, he was up
and about and very soon there was only a little stiffness in his right arm
to remind him of Pete Glass and the dusty roan.
He spent most of his time close to the cabin, for though he had forgotten
the world there was no decisive proof that the world would forget him half
so easily; that was not the way of the sheriff. He had been known to spend
years in the hunt for a single misdoer and Vic had no care to wander out
where he might be seen.
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