She did not complete the sentence, but broke it of her own accord and held her breath.
Nearer and nearer came the steeds as yet unseen, and the gloved finger of Belle Demona rested against the shining trigger of the six-shooter.
"He will never take him across the sea!" she hissed. "Here ends the trail of the Yankee spotter, and here finishes as well the story of Belle Demona's hate."
The next moment the horsemen came opposite the mouth of the alley, and the fair foe in ambush pressed the trigger, and a loud report rang out on the crisp air.
[CHAPTER XXIV.]
THE QUAKER'S TRUMPS WIN.
Sharp and clear was the report of Belle Demona's revolver.
The three horses in the street stopped, and one of the riders pitched forward, but did not fall to the ground.
With a cry that welled from the depths of her heart, the woman in the alley stood as one transfixed with horror.