It spat fire, and
Sliver Waldron staggered forward drunkenly, waved both his armed hands as
if he were trying to talk by signal, and pitched on his face into the dust.
The fourth man had died for Grey Molly.
No gun was destined for Gus Reeve, however. Black Bart had left the
lifeless body of his victim and was darting towards the third man; the
master was on his knee, raising his gun for the last shot; but Gus Reeve
was blind to all that had happened. He saw only the black stallion, the
matchless prize of horseflesh. He tossed a loop in the taut rope to
entangle a bind foot, but that slackening of the line gave Satan his
instant's purchase, and a moment later he was on his feet, whirled, and two
iron-hard hoofs crushed the whole framework of the man's chest like an
egg-shell. The impact lifted him from his feet, but before that body struck
the ground the life was fled from it. The fifth man had died for Grey
Molly.
Chapter XXIII. Bad News
News of the Killing at Alder, as they call that night's slaughter to this
day in the mountain-desert, traveled swiftly, and lost nothing of bulk and
burden on the way; so that two days later, when Lee Haines went down for
mail to the wretched little village in the valley, he heard the
store-keeper retailing the story to an awe-stricken group.
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