Perry had remained standing, his legs spread far apart, weaving slightly, a dazed look in his eyes. From the floor the third bandit had propped himself on an elbow to pump another bullet just below Perry's heart. Then the bandits had fled, racing into the street. Perry had staggered to the open door after them. They were running up the alley alongside the building. Perry had followed a few weak steps, then had collapsed in the gravel.
Travis was there in front of him, always stabbing, moving away from Perry's right hand, his chin hidden behind a raised left shoulder. He was tough and fast, all right. The blood ran into Perry's eye again and he cocked his head to see. Travis roughed him in the clinches and he was proud of his ability to curb the instinct to reply with similar tactics, to refrain from grating the laces across Travis' face, or to clip him with an elbow. Perry ducked his head and bored in.