“Yah! It’s likely I’ll put the gun down!” scoffed Gibson. “Ride on, you fool! Do you want to hang? Ride on and keep ahead! Remember, I’ve got the gun!”
“Hanging’s not so bad,” snarled Jeff. “I’d rather be hung decently than be such a thing as you! Oh, if I just had a gun!”
The sound of pursuit was clearer now; and, of course, the pursuers could hear the pursued as well and fought for every inch.
Jeff rode on, furious at his helplessness. For several miles his tormentor raced behind in silence, fearing, if he persisted longer in his evil course, that Jeff would actually stop and give himself up. They gained now on their pursuers, who had pressed their horses overhard to make up the five-mile handicap.
As they came to a patch of sandy ground they eased the pace somewhat. Charley drew a little closer to Jeff.
“Now don’t get mad. I had no idea you thought so much of the girl——”
“Shut up, will you?”
“——or I wouldn’t have deviled you so. I’ll quit. How was I to know you’d stop to fight for her with the very rope round your neck? It’s a pity she’ll never know about it.... You can’t have seen her more than two or three times—and Heaven only knows where that was! On that camping trip, I reckon. What kind of a girl is she, anyhow, to hold clandestine interviews with a stranger?... She’ll write to you by and by—a little scented note, with a little stilted, meaningless word of thanks. No, she won’t. It’ll be gushy: ‘Oh, my hero! How can I ever repay you?’ She won’t let you out of her clutches—anybody, so long as it’s a man! Here! None o’ that!... Go on, now, if you want to live!”
“Who the hell wants to live?”
A noose flew back from the darkness. Jeff’s horse darted aside and Gibson was jerked sprawling to the sand at a rope’s end—hat flew one way, gun another. Jeff ran to the six-shooter.