"Ah!—it's the boys. Baptiste said they would come."
There was a faint rustling of grass near by. Jacky's keen ears had detected the stealing sound at once. To others it might have passed for the effect of the night breeze.
They listened for a few seconds longer, then Bill turned to the girl.
"Come—the horses are safe. The boys will not show themselves. I fancy they are here to watch only—me."
They continued on towards the shed. They were both wrapt in silent thought. Neither was prepared for what was to come. They were still nearly a quarter of a mile from the building. Its outline was dimly discernible in the darkness. And, too, now the light from the oil lamp could be seen dimly shining through the red bandanna which was stretched over the window.
Now the sound of "Poker" John's voice raised in anger reached them. They stood still with one accord. It was astonishing how the voice traveled all that distance. He must be shouting. A sudden fear gripped their hearts. Bill was the first to move. With a whispered "Wait here," he ran forward. For an instant Jacky waited, then, on a sudden impulse, she followed her lover.
The girl had just started. Suddenly the sharp report of firearms split the air. She came up with Bill, who had paused at the sound.
"Hustle, Bill. It's murder," the girl panted.
"Yes," and he ran forward with set face and gleaming eyes.
Murder—and who was the victim? Bill wondered, and his heart misgave him. There was no longer any sound of voices. The rancher had been silenced. He thought of the girl behind him. Then his whole mind suddenly centered itself upon Lablache. If he had killed the rancher no mercy should be shown to him.