A girl's voice screaming--Old man Packard turned sharply and stared in
wonderment. Terry's voice--Steve swung about, his anger suddenly
quenched in alarm, his eyes seeking everywhere for her.
It was Barbee who saw her first. Barbee called out, a strange note in
his voice, and clapped his spurs to his horse's sides and went racing
across the undulating lands toward her. Then Steve saw and old man
Packard and the rest. Saw but at first could not understand: the sun
was just behind her, winking into their eyes. There was some one with
her, struggling with her.
"Blenham!" shouted Steve.
And he was racing wildly along after Barbee, yearning to shoot to kill
and yet not daring to shoot at all. Blenham and Terry struggling upon
the iron side of the mountain, Terry striking and striking at him
frantically, Blenham with his arms about her, dragging her back toward
a wide fissure in the rocks, the sun bright above them.
To Terry it seemed that the universe had come crashing down about her
ears. A moment ago, tense and rigid and breathless, she had stood
watching two men face each other threateningly. Then there had been
the crack of the unexpected, unseen rifle; the dust struck up between
them; the second shot. And the smoking rifle-barrel was not three feet
from where Terry stood, Blenham's convulsed face laid against the
stock, Blenham's one evil eye lining the sights.
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