"Did you hear what I said?" demanded Weaver.
"I was—riding."
"Alone?"
The answer came so slowly that it was barely audible. "Yes."
"Riding in Antelope Valley?"
"Yes."
"Let me see that gun." Weaver held out his hand for the rifle.
Phyllis looked at him and tried to fight against his domination; then slowly she handed him the rifle. He broke and examined it. From the chamber he extracted an empty shell.
Grim as a hanging judge, his look chiselled into her.
"I expect the lead that was in here is in my arm. Isn't that right?"