in wavering strata. It was
quite probable that no thought of killing each other suggested itself to
either Annixter or Delaney. Both fired without aiming very deliberately.
To empty their revolvers and avoid being hit was the desire common to
both. They no longer vituperated each other. The revolvers spoke for
them.

Long after, Annixter could recall this moment. For years he could
with but little effort reconstruct the scene--the densely packed crowd
flattened against the sides of the barn, the festoons of lanterns, the
mingled smell of evergreens, new wood, sachets, and powder smoke;
the vague clamour of distress and terror that rose from the throng of
guests, the squealing of the buckskin, the uneven explosions of the
revolvers, the reverberation of trampling hoofs, a brief glimpse of
Harran Derrick's excited face at the door of the harness room, and
in the open space in the centre of the floor, himself and Delaney,
manoeuvring swiftly in a cloud of smoke.

Annixter's revolver contained but six cartridges. Already it seemed to
him as if he had fired twenty times. Without doubt the next shot was
his last. Then what? He peered through the blue haze that with every
discharge thickened between him and the buster. For his own safety
he must "place" at least one shot. Delaney's chest and shoulders rose
suddenly above the smoke close upon him as the distraught buckskin
reared again. Annixter, for the first time during the fight, took
definite aim, but before he could draw the trigger there was a great
shout and he was aware of the buckskin, the bridle trailing, the saddle
empty, plunging headlong across the floor, crashing into the line of
chairs. Delaney was scrambling off the floor. There was blood on the
buster's wrist and he no longer carried his revolver. Suddenly he turned
and ran. The crowd parted right and left before him as he made toward
the doorway. He disappeared.

Twenty men promptly sprang to the buckskin's head, but she broke away,
and wild with terror, bewildered, blind, insensate, charged into the
corner of the barn by the musicians' stand. She brought up against the
wall with cruel force and with impact of a sack of stones; her head was
cut. She turned and charged again, bull-like, the blood streaming from
her forehead. The crowd, shrieking, melted before her rush. An old
man was thrown down and trampled. The buckskin trod upon the dragging
bridle, somersaulted into a confusion of chairs in one corner,