When Kate came running back with the gun in her hands he faced her before the closed door, his hands in his pockets.
If any of the tense watchers had had a doubt of Price Selwood’s courage they lost it then, for he took his life in his hands.
“Kate,” he said quietly, “put up that gun. This isn’t outlaw country. If you make a blunder you’ll hang just like any other murderer—even if you are Kate Cathrew.”
For a moment the woman looked at him as a trapped wild-cat might have done, her lips loose and shaking, her eyes mad with rage.
Then she struck the rifle, butt down, on the hard earth and with a full-mouthed oath, flung around the corner, tore the stallion’s reins from the ring in the wall and mounted with a whirl.
She struck Bluefire once and was gone down the road in a streak of dust.
Selwood opened the door.
“A narrow shave,” he said gravely, “if that had happened anywhere but here you’d be a dead woman, Miss Allison.”
“Perhaps,” said Nance, “she’s taken two shots at me already from the hillside—or someone has. Well—I’ve told you, McKane, as was your right. Now I’ll go back to Nameless.”
She turned away, but the trader cleared his throat.