“The boy?” and Tom Terror grated his teeth. “Oh, the young ’un what has carried on court in Cut-throat for six mouths?”
“Yes, yes!”
“He’s nobody in partic’lar. You’re the mystery, gal. Thar!”
The thought of the terrible scenes that might soon populate the chasm rushed upon the girl’s mind faster than she could speak. They came like the pictures of some mighty panorama, and when in one she saw Harry, the avenger, struck down by the man he had sworn to hang, she reeled away with a cry of horror.
When she recovered, the cavern was still. The fire burning brightly on the stone floor told her that she was the only tenant of the cave. The silence was oppressive.
“Can I not see something from the rock?” she exclaimed. “It would kill me to remain here while the last dread encounter was taking place in Cut-throat. I will go!”
The waif of the gap hurried from the cave, and a few moments later she was gliding through the shadows of the ravine with which she was thoroughly acquainted.
The girl sprung back with a startling cry; the thunderous report of firearms had broken the silence and the flash almost blinded her.
Again and again the shots sent her warm blood like lava through her heart; she heard oaths, cries, the wild struggling of enemies in deadly combat.