And all this time the man whom Arizona had killed, was lying face up to the morning, hardly a pace behind him! But she dared not try to analyze this man. She could only feel vaguely that an ally had been given her, an ally of strength. He, too, must have sensed what was in her mind.
"You'll be wanting this, I reckon."
Returning the Colt to her, he slowly dragged his glance from the ground and let it cross her face for a fleeting instant. She slipped the gun back into its holster.
"And now suppose we go down the hill and get your hoss?"
Evidently he was painfully eager to get the dead man out of sight. Yet he paused while he picked up her saddle.
"They'll be along pretty pronto—the sheriff and his men. They'll take care of—him."
Leading the way down to her hobbled horse he saddled it swiftly, while she stood aside and watched. When he was done he turned to her.
"Maybe we better be starting. It wouldn't come in very handy for Kern to find us here, eh?"
Obediently she came. With one hand he held the stirrup, while the other steadied her weight by the elbow, as she raised her foot. In spite of herself she shivered at his touch. A moment later, from the saddle, she was looking down into a darkly crimsoned face. Plainly he had understood that impulse of aversion, but he said nothing.
There was a low neigh from the other side of the hill in answer to his soft whistle, and then out of the trees came a beautifully formed roan mare, with high head and pricking ears. With mincing steps she went straight to her master, and Jig saw the face of the other brighten. But he was gloomy again by the time he had swung into the saddle.