She was tragic as death itself. The big blue wells of her eyes were black with the spreading pupils. Dark circles lay beneath them.
Her blue-veined hands were so thin the light seemed to shine through them.
Her long white dress clung to her slim form. From far back by the corral fence Cleve Whitmore 209 watched her silently, his hands clenched hard.
Tharon Last looked at her with wide eyes. She had forgotten all about this woman in the passionate hatred of Courtrey and the desire to pin his crimes upon him. Now she wet her lips and looked at Ellen long and silently. The pale lips were quivering, the long arm shook as it held the gun.
“God!” whispered the girl, watching, “she loves him! Like I loved Jim Last! Th’ pain’s in her heart, an’ no mistake!”
Then, as if something strong within her folded its iron arm upon itself, she began to back El Rey. “Back out!” she called, “we ain’t no woman-killers!”
With one accord, carefully, watching, the Vigilantes began to back, counting the seconds, expecting each moment to witness the most pitiful thing Lost Valley with all its crimes, had ever seen.
Some one lifted the body of Thomas and swung it across a horse.
Back to the corner of the house, around, they went, and finally, out in front they turned as one man and rode away from the Stronghold––and Jim Banner was swearing like a fury, steadily, in a high-pitched voice. 210
“Failed!” he cried between his oaths, “failed in our biggest job! That’s th’ gun, all right, all right, an’ that damned woman beat us to it! Beat us to it with her fool’s courage an’ her sickenin’ love! Oh, t’ hell with Courtrey an’ all this Valley! I’m a-goin’ t’ move down th’ Wall, s’help me!”