"You've got to listen to me, Anthony—"
"I'll listen to nothing, for there he is and—"
She said with a sharp, rising ring in her voice: "If you shoot at him while he carries that white flag I'll—I'll send a bullet through your head—that's straight! We got only one law in the mountains, and that's the law of honour. If you bust that, I'm done with you, Anthony."
"Take my gun—take it quickly, Sally, I can't trust myself; looking at him, I can see the place where the bullet should strike home."
He forced the butt of his revolver into her hands, rose, and stepped to the door, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Tell me what he does."
"He's comin' straight toward us as if he didn't fear nothin'—grey
William Drew! He's not packin' a gun; he trusts us."
"The better way," answered Bard. "Bare hands—the better way!"
"He has killed men with those bare hands of his. I can see 'em clear—great, blunt-fingered hands, Anthony. He's coming around the side of the house. I'll go into the front room."
She ran past Anthony and paused in the habitable room, spying through a crack in the wall. And Anthony stood with his eyes tightly closed, his head bowed. The image of the leashed hound came more vividly to her when she glanced back at him.