Every one of them had a hand in this horrible killing; was,
to that half animal and half-childish nature, a murderer.
His chin was on his shoulder; the quiver of pain in her nostrils ended as
he spoke; and while the fingers of his left hand trailed caressingly across
her forehead, his right carried the muzzle to her temple.
"Brave Molly, good girl," he whispered, "they'll pay for you a death for a
death and a man for a hoss." The yellow which had glinted in his eyes
during the run was afire now. "It ain't far; only a step to go; and then
you'll be where they ain't any saddles, nor any spurs to gall you, Molly,
but just pastures that's green all year, and nothin' to do but loaf in the
sun and smell the wind. Here's good luck to you, girl."
His gun spoke sharp and short and he laid the limp head reverently on the
ground.
It had all happened in very few seconds, and the posse was riding through
the river, still a long shot off, when Barry drew his rifle from its case
on the saddle. Moreover, the failing light which had made the sheriff's hit
so much a matter of luck was now still dimmer, yet Barry snapped his gun to
the shoulder and fired the instant the butt lay in the grove.
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