“Don’t do it!” a companion warned, and he knocked the muzzle of the gun aside. “The boss would raise Old Ned wi’ ye, if ye should.”
Though they feared to shoot, a couple of them followed her; but when they reached the huts, though they had followed close at her heels, they could not find her.
One of them poked his head into the hut where Snaky Pete was lying, supposedly asleep.
“Hello!” he called, in a low voice. “That woman has got away, and is in the camp here some’eres.”
Snaky Pete came to his feet, and rushed to the door.
“Where is she?” he cried, his wounded lip cutting him like a knife as he said it.
“Here!” was the startling answer.
Pizen Jane seemed to rise out of the ground before him. She threw up the revolver, and fired full at him. It was the revolver shot that the scout and the troopers heard.
As its report rang out, Snaky Pete Sanborn, the outlaw and desperado, pitched forward on his face, falling dead in the door of the hut.
Pizen Jane had kept her vow.