He slipped his hands down her arms and caught her fingers tightly.
“Stained!” his heart whispered to itself in stifling exhilaration, “in spite of all––her first killin’––an’ for me!”
Then he could bear her face no more, and turned to look at Kenset. Half off the edge of his blanket the forest man lay with his face buried in his hands, and beside him lay another gun, the smoke still curling from its muzzle.
“By God!” said the rider, softly, “what’s this?” and he ran forward to pick up the weapon.
“Three of us!” he said aloud, “pepperin’ him at once! Kenset, where did you get this gun?”
But Kenset did not speak. His shoulders trembled, his dark head was bowed to the earth.
“Answer me,” said Billy, “for as sure’s I live, this here’s Buck Courtrey’s favourite gun––the gun with the untrue firin’ pin. Look here.” And he held it toward Tharon who leaned near to look. True enough.
In the right side of the plunger there was a small, shining nick, as if, at some previous time, a tiny chink had been broken out of it.
“I found it where I saw Courtrey hide it that night they brought me here,” said Kenset in a 275 muffled voice. “I crawled when the Pomo was out in the Cañons after meat.”
“An’ you used it––at last. I see. Not till th’ last.”