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.