Kneeling close to the opening, but a little to one side, Lynch was whirling the cylinder of his Colt. Watching him with fascinated horror, Mary saw him break the weapon, closely inspect the shells, close it again, and test the trigger. Then, revolver gripped in right hand, he settled himself into a slightly easier position, eyes fixed on the opening and head thrust a little forward in an attitude of listening.
Only too well she guessed his purpose. He was waiting in ambush to “get” that solitary horseman they had seen riding from the north. Whether or not he had come here for the sole purpose of luring the other to his death, Mary had no notion. But she could 330 see clearly that once this stranger was out of the way, Lynch would at least have a chance to penetrate into the mountains before the others from the south arrived to halt him.
Slowly, interminably the minutes ticked away as the girl stood motionless, striving desperately to think of something she might do to prevent the catastrophe. If only she had some way of knowing when the stranger was near she might cry out a warning, even at the risk of Lynch’s violence. But thrust here in the background as she was, the unknown was likely to come within range of Lynch’s gun before she even knew of his approach.
Suddenly, out of the dead silence, the clatter of a pebble struck on the girl’s raw nerves and made her wince. She saw the muscles of Lynch’s back stiffen and the barrel of his Colt flash up to cover the narrow entrance to the ledge. For an instant she hesitated, choked by the beating of her heart. Should she cry out? Was it the man really coming? Her dry lips parted, and then all at once a curious, slowly moving object barely visible above the rocky shoulder that sheltered Lynch, startled her and kept her silent.
In that first flash she had no idea what it was. Then abruptly the truth came to her. It was the top of a man’s Stetson. The ledge sloped upward, and where she stood it was a good two feet higher than at the entrance. A man was riding up the outer slope and, 331 remembering the steepness of it, Mary knew that, in a moment, more of him would come into view before he became visible to Lynch.
White-faced, dry-lipped, she waited breathlessly. Now she could see the entire hat. A second later she glimpsed the top of an ear, a bit of forehead, a sweeping look of dark-brown hair—and her heart died suddenly within her.
The man was Buck Green!