The
crowd gave way before him, not that he shouldered them aside, but they
seemed to feel the coming of his shadow before him, and separated as
they would have done before the shadow of a falling tree.
In another moment Pierre found himself looking up to the giant. No
mask could cover that long, twisting mark of white down his cheek, nor
hide the square set of the jaw, nor dim the steady eyes.
And there came to Pierre an exceedingly great uneasiness in his right
hand, and a twitching of the fingers low down on his thigh where the
familiar holster should have hung. His left hand rose, following the
old instinct, and touched beneath his throat where the cold cross lay.
He was saying easily: "This is your dance, isn't it?"
"Right, Bud," answered the big man in a mellow voice as great as his
size. "Sorry I can't swap partners with you, but I hunt alone."
An overwhelming desire to get a distance between himself and this huge
unknown came to Pierre.
He said: "There goes the music. You're off."
And the other, moving toward Jack, leaned down a little and murmured
at the ear of the outlaw: "Thanks, Pierre.
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