"It's Kruger," declared John Mark calmly. "That chivalrous idiot, Doone, apparently shot him down and didn't wait to finish him. Very clever work on his part, but very sloppy. However, he seems to have wounded Kruger so badly that my gunman can't hit his mark."
For Ronicky Doone, if it were indeed he, was still galloping down the road, more and more clearly discernible, while the rifle firing behind him ceased.
"Of course that firing will be the alarm for Lefty," went on John Mark, seeming to enjoy the spectacle before him, as if it were a thing from which he was entirely detached. "And Lefty can make his choice. Kruger was his pal. If he wants to revenge the fall of Kruger he may shoot from behind a tree. If not, he'll shoot from the open, and it will be an even fight."
The terror of it all, the whole realization, sprang up in the girl. In a moment she was crying: "Stop him, John—for Heaven's sake, find a way to stop him."
"There is only one power that can turn the trick, I'm afraid," answered
John Mark. "That power is Lefty."
"If he shoots Lefty he'll come straight toward us on his way to the house, and if he sees you—"
"If he sees me he'll shoot me, of course," declared Mark.
She stared at him. "John," she said, "I know you're brave, but you won't try to face him?"
"I'm fairly expert with a gun." He added: "But it's good of you to be concerned about me."
"I am concerned, more than concerned, John. A woman has premonitions, and I tell you I know, as well as I know I'm standing here, that if you face Ronicky Doone you'll go down."