"Who're them others?" he cried harshly. "Was you afraid four wouldn't be enough to take me?"
The four turned heads to look. Bill Warfield never looked back, for Al's gun spoke, and Warfield sagged at the knees and the shoulders, and he slumped to the ground at the instant when Al's gun spoke again.
"That's for you, Lone Morgan," Al cried, as he fired again. "She talked about you in her sleep last night. She called you Loney, and she wanted you to come and get her. I was going to kill you first chance I got. I coulda loved this little girl. I—could——"
He was down, bleeding and coughing and trying to talk. Swan had shot him, and two of the deputies who had been there through half of Al's bitter talk. Lorraine, unable to get up and run, too sturdy of soul to faint, had rolled over and away from him, her lips held tightly together, her eyes wide with horror. Al crawled after her, his eyes pleading.
"Little Spitfire—I shot your Loney—but I'd have been good to you, girl. I watched yuh all night—and I couldn't help loving yuh. I—couldn't——" That was all. Within three feet of her, his face toward her and his eyes agonizing to meet hers, he died.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ANOTHER STORY BEGINS
This chapter is very much like a preface: it is not absolutely necessary, although many persons will read it and a few will be glad that it was written.