Tharon Last, her hair beating on her shoulders, her face pale as ashes, her breast heaving, looked back toward the opening in the trees, and saw Courtrey swing in a wide arc and circle past to disappear toward the north.
After him swept his two lieutenants, to fade swiftly from sight behind the shielding forest.
A grim expression spread over the face of the man at the step as he, too, beheld the end of the vital play.
Then he looked up at the girl on the silver stallion and his dark eyes were alight.
“What’s this?” he asked abruptly.
Then Tharon seemed to become conscious of him for the first time.
She looked down at him and the black pupils were spread across the azure of her eyes, making them strangely exciting in their straight glance.
“This,” she said, panting, “is some of the law of Lost Valley. Courtrey’s law. That is the man I’m goin’ to kill some day.”
Kenset felt the blood flow back upon his heart, 139 an icy flood. The words were simple, sincere, unconscious of dramatic effect. They were as final as death itself, and he dropped his eyes unconsciously to the two guns at her hips. He wondered why she had ridden without a shot this time.
He found his lips suddenly dry and moistened them before he spoke.