Brent comprehended the Baronet’s heart and mind at the word. The other, I think, saw as plainly on Brent’s face that he was a lover, and perhaps the more fortunate one. These two loyal men drew closer at this, as wholly loyal souls will do, for all the pang of knowing that one has loved and lost.
Brent told our story in brief.
“I divined that you were one of the pair who had started on the rescue. I could not mistake you, man and horse and dress, from the Mormon’s description.”
“You saw Sizzum, then?”
“I saw his dead body.”
“What? Dead!” A sense of relief, that the world had one tempter the less, passed through our minds.
“Yes, shot dead, just where the Wasatch Mountains open, and there is that wonderful view of Salt Lake City. His Nemesis met him there. I heard the shot fired, as I was riding out to meet the train, and saw him fall!”
“Who shot him, of the many that had a right?”
“As mild a mannered man as ever shuddered at the crack of an egg-shell.”
“Vendetta for woman-stealing?”