She looked up, showing him a pair of wide, dry eyes, in which there was still a trace of horror. An expression of grave self-accusation shone in his.
"You were not to blame," she said dully. "You may have anticipated a meeting of those men, but you could not have foreseen the end. Oh!" She shuddered again. "To think of seeing a man deliberately murdered!"
"That's just what it was," he returned quietly; "just plain murder. They had him between them. He didn't have a chance. He was bound to get it from one or the other. Looks like they trapped him; run him down there on purpose." He held her stirrup.
"I reckon you've seen enough, ma'am," he added. "You'd better hop right on your horse an' get back to Bear Flat."
She shivered and raised her head, looking at him—a flash of fear in her eyes. "You are going down there!" she cried, her eyes dilating.
He laughed grimly. "I cert'nly am, ma'am," he returned. "You'd better go right off. I'm ridin' down there to see how bad that man is hit."
She started toward him, protesting. "Why, they will kill you, too!" she declared.
He laughed again, with a sudden grim humor. "There ain't any danger," he returned. "They've sloped."
Involuntarily she looked down. Far out on the plains, through the break in the ridge of hills, she could see two horsemen racing away.
"The cowards!" she cried, her voice shaking with anger. "To shoot a man in cold blood and then run!" She looked at Ferguson, her figure stiffening with decision.