Then there was
a crash as something went down heavily amidst the crackling twigs.
Courthorne stooped a little, panting in the smoke that blew into his
eyes, jerked the Marlin lever, and, as the moon came through again, had
a blurred vision of a white drawn face that stared up at him, still
with defiance in its eyes. He looked down into it as he drew the
trigger once more.
Shannon quivered a moment, and then lay very still, and it was high
time for Courthorne to look to himself, for there was a shouting in the
bluff, and something came crashing through the undergrowth. Even then
his cunning did not desert him, and flinging the Marlin down beside the
trooper, he slipped almost silently in and out among the birches and
swung himself into the saddle of a tethered horse. Unlooping the
bridle from a branch, he pressed his heels home, realizing as he did it
that there was no time to lose, for it was evident that one of the
troopers was somewhat close behind him, and others were coming across
the river. He knew the bluff well, and having no desire to be
entangled in it was heading for the prairie, when a blink of moonlight
showed him a lad in uniform riding at a gallop between him and the
crest of the slope. It was Trooper Payne, and Courthorne knew him for
a very bold horseman.
Now, it is possible that had one of the rustlers, who were simple men
with primitive virtues as well as primitive passions, been similarly
placed, he would have joined his comrades and taken his chance with
them, but Courthorne kept faith with nobody unless it suited him, and
was equally dangerous to his friends and enemies.
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