He
was about to push backward to avoid possible attack from the rear,
when a shadow shot from the opening. His face paled and looked
sick of a sudden, his clenched fingers relaxed about the handle of
his pistol and he drew it back, still cocked, turned on his knees,
walked past the Pine, and by the fallen oak stood upright,
waiting. He heard a low whistle calling to the horse below and a
shudder ran through him. He heard the horse coming up the path, he
clenched his pistol convulsively, and his eyes, lit by an
unearthly fire and fixed on the edge of the bowlder around which
they must come, burned an instant later on--June. At the cry she
gave, he flashed a hunted look right and left, stepped swiftly to
one side and stared past her-still at the bowlder. She had dropped
the reins and started toward him, but at the Pine she stopped
short.
"Where is he?"
Her lips opened to answer, but no sound came. Hale pointed at the
horse behind her.
"That's his. He sent me word. He left that horse in the valley, to
ride over here, when he came back, to kill me. Are you with him?"
For a moment she thought from his wild face that he had gone crazy
and she stared silently.
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