But at that same instant the Virginian dashed forward upon his horse, leaving the glasses in my hand. And with the contagion of his act the rest of us followed him, leaving the pack animals to follow us as they should choose.
“Look!” cried McLean. “He's not shot her.”
I saw the tall figure of a woman rush out of the door and pass quickly round the house.
“He's missed her!” cried McLean, again. “She's savin' herself.”
But the man's figure did not appear in pursuit. Instead of this, the woman returned as quickly as she had gone, and entered the dark interior.
“She had something,” said Wiggin. “What would that be?”
“Maybe it's all right, after all,” said McLean. “She went out to get wood.”
The rough steepness of our trail had brought us down to a walk, and as we continued to press forward at this pace as fast as we could, we compared a few notes. McLean did not think he saw any flash. Wiggin thought that he had heard a sound, but it was at the moment when the Virginian's horse had noisily started away.
Our trail had now taken us down where we could no longer look across and see the cabin. And the half-mile proved a long one over this ground. At length we reached and crossed the rocky ford, overtaking the Virginian there.
“These hawsses,” said he, “are played out. We'll climb up to camp afoot. And just keep behind me for the present.”