TIL TAYLOR— SHERIFF 



markable quickness again grabbed the gun barrel in 

 time to divert the shot. 



"Shoot him again," commanded Owens, as the two 

 men locked in a struggle for life and death. 



Drawing the gun down to Taylor's heart he fired 

 again, the bullet entering the sheriff's chest just below 

 the throat. 



"Guy, I'm shot," gasped the fatally wounded man 

 as he crumpled to the floor. 



With the muzzle of his gun and a threat to kill, Hart 

 forced Wyrick to release Rathie, then again drawing 

 on Taylor cursed them both and demanded the loca- 

 tion of the ammunition, but received no response. 

 Again he threatened to fire, when Wyrick shouted. 

 "You wouldn't shoot a man when he's down, would 

 you?" 



Taylor, realizing he was fatally wounded, in order 

 to save Wyrick told the men where the cartridges were. 

 The effort was a severe one for the dying sheriff, and 

 he asked for water. After some debate, in which no 

 little cursing figured, it was brought to him by one of 

 the men, while Wyrick under the muzzle of a gun 

 assisted him as much as possible, placing him on a bed 

 in an adjoining room. Meanwhile the other two des- 

 peradoes searched for a full supply of revolvers and 

 ammunition. 



"What is the trouble?" asked R. E. Phelps, county 

 road master, who, hearing the noise, ran up to the 

 sheriff's office, accompanied by another man. 



"Just a little jail riot," answered Anderson, standing 

 at the jail door, and whom Phelps did not realize was 

 a prisoner. 



"Everything all right now?" queried Phelps. 



"All right," came back from the adjoining room. 



47 



