Until at last she knew that she had far overstepped her mark and sank
down against one of the rocks to rest and think out what next she must
do. There seemed nothing left. Even the sound of a gun fired she might
not hear, for that sharp call would not travel far against the wind.
It was while she sat there, burying Pierre in her thoughts, a white
shape came glimmering down to her through the moonlight. She was on
her feet at once, alert and gun in hand. It could only be one horse,
only one rider, McGurk coming down from his last killing with the
sneer on his pale lips. Well, he would complete his work this night
and kill her fighting face to face.
A man's death; that was all she craved. She rose; she stepped boldly
out into the center of the trail between the rocks.
There she saw the greatest wonder she had ever looked on. It was
McGurk walking with bare, bowed head, and after him, like a dog after
the master, followed the white horse. She shoved the revolver back
into the holster. This should be a fair fight.
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