As if by magic his hand loosened on the smoking gun.

Folsom was on his knees, reeling and swaying, waving his gun, peering like a drunken man for some lost object.

His temple appeared half shot away, a bloody and horrible sight.
"Pards, I got him!" he said, in strange, half-strangled whisper.

"I got him!...

Hell-Bent Wade! My respects! I'll meet you--thar!" His reeling motion brought his gaze in line with Belllounds.