A bullet, singing out of Black Coulee, had carried away part of the pommel.
Kenset shut his lips in a new line, gathered up his rein and drew the horse down to a walk with an iron hand.
Slowly, without a backward glance, he rode on across the darkening levels. He was no fool.
He knew he had had his warning. 164
Very well. He would give back his acceptance of that warning.
He had said to Courtrey that night at the Stronghold that he had come to stay.
No bunch of lawless bullies were going to scare him out.
No other shot followed. He had not expected one.
For a time after that he went about his work as usual. Nothing happened; he had no outward sign of the distaste with which he was regarded by all factions alike, it seemed.
He met Courtrey face to face in Corvan one day and spoke to him civilly, but Courtrey did not speak. Wylackie Bob did, however––a sneering salutation that was a covert insult. Kenset touched his hat with dignity and passed on.