for his acts. It was as if putting off the thought that he was going
into this fight for Earl Reid had taken bonds from his arms, leaving
him free to breathe joyously and strike with the keenness of a man who
has a wild glory in facing tremendous odds.

All in a moment this clearing of brain and limb came to him, setting
him up as if he had passed under an icy torrent and come out refreshed
and clear-eyed into the sun. He bent low behind a shrub and rushed
down the hillside toward the man who stood reloading his pistol, his
hat-crown showing above the saddle.

Reid was all right back there for a little while, he knew; Hall would
hold off a bit, not knowing what he might meet by rushing in with
precipitation. This one first, then Hall. It was not Reid's fight; it
was his fight, Reid but an incident in it, as a sheep might run
between the combatants and throw its simple life in peril.

The fellow behind the horse, too sure of his safety, too contemptuous
of this shepherd schoolmaster whose notorious simplicity had gone
abroad in the sheeplands exciting the rough risibilities of men, was
careless of whether his target stood still or ran; he did not lift his
eyes from the reloading of his gun to see. And in those few precious
moments Mackenzie rushed down on him like a wind from the mountain,
opening fire with not more than twenty yards between.

Mackenzie's first shot knocked leather from the saddle-horn. The horse
squatted, trembling, snorted its alarm, trampled in panic, lifting a
cloud of dust. And into this rising dust Mackenzie sent his lead, not
seeing where it struck, quickly emptying one revolver, quickly
shifting weapons from hand to hand, no pause in his hot assault.

The stranger cursed his frightened horse, both hands busy with the
beast to stay it from plunging away and leaving him exposed to
something he had not counted on meeting. Mackenzie pushed on, firing
at every step. The horse partly turned, head toward him, partly baring
the scoundrel who was that moment flinging his leg over the saddle to
seek a coward's safety. It was a black mare that he rode, a white star
in its forehead, and now as it faced about Mackenzie, not thirty feet
away, threw a bullet for the white spot between the creature's eyes.
It reared, and fell, coming down while its rider's leg still lay
across the saddle, his other foot held in the stirrup.

A moment Mackenzie stood, the smoking pistol in his hand, leaning
forward like a