Glancing back, he saw Nash in the act of throwing his lariat to the
ground, wild with anger, and before he could understand the meaning of
this burst of temper over a mere spoiled lariat, the gun whipped from
the side of the cowboy, exploded, and the little piebald, with ears
pricked sharply forward as though in vague curiosity, crumpled to the
ground. The suddenness of it took all power of action from Bard for the
instant. He stood staring stupidly down at the dying horse and then
whirled, gun in hand, frantic with anger and grief.
Nash was galloping furiously up the far bank of the Saverack, already
safely out of range, and speeding toward the ford.
CHAPTER XXII
DREW SMILES
When the cattleman felt the rope snap back to his hand he could not
realize at first just what had happened. The crack of the gun had been
no louder than the snapping of a twig in that storming of the river, and
the only explanation he could find was that the rope had struck some
superlatively sharp edge of the rock and been sawed in two. But
examining the cut end he found it severed as cleanly as if a knife had
slashed across it, and then it was he knew and threw the lariat to the
ground.
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