His hand stirred, seeking her own, and she took it and pressed it in both of hers. “Jesus be merciful!” she prayed, softly.
He smiled faintly in acknowledgment of her presence and her prayer, and in this consolation died.
Wonderingly, with imperious frown, she rose and confronted the sheriff. “How is it that you are unhurt? Did he not fight?”
“That’s what I can’t understand, miss,” he answered. “He fired only once, and then into the air. ’Pears like he wanted to die.”
Alice understood. His thought was of her. “You shall hear as little as possible,” he had said.
“And you killed him—as he surrendered,” she exclaimed, bitterly, and turned toward the dead man, whose face was growing very peaceful now, and with a blinding pain in her eyes she bent and laid a final caressing hand upon his brow.
As she faced the sheriff again she said, with merciless severity: “I’d rather be in his place than yours.” Then, with a tired droop in her voice, she appealed to Ward: “Take me away from here. I’m tired of this savage world.”
VI
NAZA! NAZA! NAZA!
By Zane Grey
From “The Last of the Plainsmen,” copyright, 1908, by A. C. McClurg & Co. By special permission from the author.