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Behind Longarm, Arnold Batson sagged to his knees and began throwing up.

Batson, whose loyalties lay with duty and pride rather than with the turncoat Jack Thomas, had killed again.

Longarm got to his feet and went forward to verify that Thomas was no threat any longer. Then he turned back to Batson.

“Come along, Arnold. We have to get your injured man down the mountain.” He smiled. “By the time we get there, I expect Marshal Vail and Henry will’ve made that handcart ride. If I have anything to say about it, man, the marshal will see to it that you get whatever commendation or rewards or whatever that the government can talk those three mines into.”

Batson wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head. “I don’t want—”

“I know,” Longarm said. “But you’ve done the right thing, and it will look better to you in the morning. Come on, now.” Longarm had to help Batson upright and half support him back down the trail while the other guards assisted the wounded man.

The End