fifty feet past where we had been standing. I hadn't gone but about thirty feet when I heard an explosion and felt something slam into my left shoulder. The force of it spun me partly around and sent what felt like a bolt of hot lightning up my shoulder, but I kept running. I heard footsteps behind me.

"Get the son of a bitch," I heard Bledsoe scream. I turned around in time to see Bledsoe standing about fifty feet away. He held a revolver at his side, lifted it, pointed it in my direction, and then abruptly returned it to a pocket in his coat. By this time, the trolley had stopped, and perhaps a dozen people had turned around to see what the commotion was. The trolley conductor had climbed down from the car and was running toward me. I stumbled to the ground and grabbed my left shoul...

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