Lennon fired up past the falling bag of grain. The head jerked upward, twisted, and lay still on the edge of the barricade, as the sack of corn thudded and burst on the cliff foot within two feet of the saddles. To make doubly certain, Lennon sent up another bullet, as well-aimed as the first.
His lips were set in a smile of stern satisfaction as he came to where Elsie was cowering in the arms of Carmena.
"You were right—as usual," he said. "The knife could only have knocked him out for a time. He must have played 'possum. But he was disabled. Crawled after us—couldn't get a gun till we left and too eager to wait—thought we'd be under the hoist. Yet why he should have exposed himself——"
"His wounds," divined Carmena. "The strain of heaving over the sack was too much for him. He collapsed. You're sure you didn't miss him, Jack?"
"No. Through the head—same as he shot Blossom's father."
CHAPTER XXIV
HIS DAUGHTER'S FATHER
Carmena stroked the dishevelled Elsie's yellow locks.