But none of them voiced a regret for Braden himself. His death, if he was dead, was to be deplored merely as it might affect them. Gavin turned the huddled figure over and swore afresh.
"You're too smooth with a gun, Jerry. He isn't dead yet, but I guess he's got his. Now we have to beat it."
They emerged on the streets and ran for their horses, tethered on the outskirts of town, mounted and pounded off on the trail toward the ranch. They rode fast, but without forcing their horses, for later they would need all that was in the animals.
The ranch was dark as they rode up to it. They loosened cinches, removed bridles and gave the horses feed. Entering the house they began to throw an outfit together.
Gavin, mounting the stairs, knocked at his sister's door.
"I want to talk to you, Kit."
"In the morning."
"No, now."
"Come in, then."
She sat up in bed as he struck a match and lit the lamp. As he turned to her the big man's cold, blue eyes softened a shade in expression. He sat on the side of the bed and put his arm around her.