"McGurk!"
Very slowly the head went up and back, and there he stood, not ten
paces from her, with the white moon full on his face. The sneer was
still there; the eyelid fluttered in scornful derision. And the heart
of Jacqueline came thundering in her throat.
But she cried in a strong voice: "McGurk, d'you know me?"
He did not answer.
"You murderer, you night rider! Look again: it's the last of the
Boones!"
The sneer, it seemed to her, grew bitterer, but still the man did
not speak. Then the thought of Pierre, lying dead somewhere among the
rocks, burned across her mind. Her hand leaped for the revolver, and
whipped it out in a blinding flash to cover him, but with her finger
curling on the trigger she checked herself in the nick of time. McGurk
had made no move to protect himself.
A strange feeling came to her that perhaps the man would not war
against women; the case of Mary was almost proof enough of that. But
as she stepped forward, wondering, she looked at the holster at his
side and saw that it was empty.
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