Rodney draws his pistol. The foe is wickedly spurring and yanking the bridle and cursing his horse. Every thrust of the spur into Nat’s gaunt flanks pricks Rodney as well. He aims to kill and his finger is on the trigger, when, like a flash of light, he recalls Zeb’s words: “Killin’ even an enemy is serious, an’ not pleasant to dream about.”
“Dismount and surrender your arms or I’ll blow out your brains,” he cried.
Mogridge dared not disobey.
“You will now lead that horse back to camp. If he could ride you he should have the chance, you cur.”
“There’s such a thing as courtesy even in war,” replied Mogridge, though he was careful to do as he was bid.
“Not with horse thieves.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” retorted Mogridge, and then, seeing the look in Allison’s face, he wisely decided to say no more.