turned where he stood, following her with his eyes. The light of
the lantern struck him strongly up to the waist, leaving his head and
shoulders in the gloom above its glare. His hands were in the pockets of
his trousers, his shoulders drooping forward in that horseback stoop
which years in the saddle had fastened on him.

Agnes had reached the tent, where she stood with her hand on the flap,
turning a hasty look behind her, when a shot out of the dark from the
direction of the river-bank struck her ears with a suddenness and a
portent which seemed to carry the pain of death. She was facing that
way; she saw the flash of it; she saw Jerry Boyle leap with lithe
agility, as if springing from the scourge of flames, and sling his
pistol from the hostler under his coat.

In his movement there was an admirable quickness, rising almost to the
dignity of beauty in the rapidity with which he adjusted himself to meet
this sudden exigency. In half the beat of a heart, it seemed, he had
fired. Out of the dark came another leap of flame, another report. Boyle
walked directly toward the point from which it came, firing as he went.
No answer came after his second shot.

Agnes pressed her hand over her eyes to shut out the sight, fearing to
see him fall, her heart rising up to accuse her. She had forgotten to
warn him! She had forgotten!

Boyle's voice roused her. There was a dry harshness in it, a hoarseness
as of one who has gone long without water on the lips.

"Bring that lantern here!" he commanded.

She did not stand to debate it, but took up the light and hurried to the
place where he stood. A man lay at his feet, his long hair tossed in
disorder, his long coat spread out like a black blotch upon the ground.
Boyle took the lantern and bent over the victim of his steady arm,
growled in his throat, and bent lower. The man's face was partly hidden
by the rank grass in which he lay. Boyle turned it up to the light with
his foot and straightened his back with a grunt of disdain.

"Huh! _That_ rabbit!" said he, giving her back the light.

It did not require that gleam upon the white face to tell Agnes that the
victim was the polemical sheep-herder, whose intention had been steadier
than his aim.

Boyle hesitated a moment as if to speak to her, but said nothing before
he turned and walked away.

"You've killed him!" she called after him sharply. "Don't go away and
leave him here like this!"

"He's not dead," said Boyle. "