“‘Father,’ she said all at once, ‘have you killed the man that killed Fenn?’
“The old man shook his head. There was a sick colour in his face.
“‘Then I will kill him,’ she said.
“She laid her brother’s head down, and stood up. Someone put in her hand the pistol, and told her it was the same that had killed Fenn. She took it, and came with us. The old man stood still where he was; he was like stone. I looked at him for a minute and thought; then I turned round and went to the bar-room; and he followed. Just as I got inside the door, I saw the girl start back, and her hand drop, for she saw that it was Fingall; he was looking at her very strange. It was the rule to empty the gun into a man who had been sentenced; and already Fingall had heard his, ‘God-have-mercy!’ The girl was to do it.
“Fingall said to her in a muffled voice, ‘Fire—Cynthie!’
“I guessed what she would do. In a kind of a dream she raised the pistol up—up—up, till I could see it was just out of range of his head, and she fired. One! two! three! four! five! Fingall never moved a muscle; but the bullets spotted the wall at the side of his head. She stopped after the five; but the arm was still held out, and her finger was on the trigger; she seemed to be all dazed. Only six chambers were in the gun, and of course one chamber was empty. Fenn had its bullet in his lungs, as we thought. So someone beside Cynthie touched her arm, pushing it down. But there was another shot, and this time, because of the push, the bullet lodged in Fingall’s skull.”
Pierre paused now, and waved with his hand towards the mist which hung high up like a canopy between the hills.
“But,” said Lawless, not heeding the scene, “what about that sixth bullet?”
“Holy, it is plain! Fingall did not fire the shot. His revolver was full, every chamber, when Cynthie first took it.”
“Who killed the lad?”