Let me go!" There was no
need to tear her grasp away. She crumpled and slipped sidewise to the
floor. He leaned over and shook her violently by the shoulder.
"Which way did she ride? Which way did they ride?"
She whispered: "Down the valley, Pierre; down the valley; I swear they
rode that way."
And as she lay in a half swoon she heard the faint clatter of
galloping hoofs over the rocks and a wild voice yelling, fainter and
fainter with distance: "McGurk!"
CHAPTER 34
It came back to her like a threat; it beat at her ears and roused her,
that continually diminishing cry: "McGurk!" It went down the valley,
and Mary Brown, and McGurk with her, perhaps, had gone up the gorge,
but it would be a matter of a short time before Pierre le Rouge
discovered that there was no camp-fire to be sighted in the lower
valley and whirled to storm back up the canyon with that battle-cry:
"McGurk!" still on his lips.
And if the two met she knew the result. Seven strong men had ridden
together, fought together, and one by one they had fallen, disappeared
like the white smoke of the camp-fire, jerked off into thin air by the
wind, until only one remained.
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