Then she understood.
Understood in a daze that Pierre had met the man and conquered him and
sent him out through the mountains disarmed. The white horse raised
his head and whinnied, and the sound gave a thought to her. She could
not kill this man, unarmed as he was; she could do a more
shameful thing.
"The bluff you ran was a strong one, McGurk," she said bitterly, "and
you had these parts pretty well at a standstill; but Pierre was a bit
too much for you, eh?"
The white face had not altered, and still it did not change, but the
sneer was turned steadily on her.
She cried: "Go on! Go on down the gorge!"
Like an automaton the man stepped forward, and after him paced the
white horse. She stepped between, caught the reins, and swung up to
the saddle, and sat there, controlling between her stirrups the
best-known mount in all the mountain-desert. A thrill of wild
exultation came to her. She cried: "Look back, McGurk! Your gun is
gone, your horse is gone; you're weaker than a woman in the
mountains!"
Yet he went on without turning, not with the hurried step of a coward,
but still as one stunned.
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