"But he's carrying the flag of truce, Anthony. You see that?"
"I see nothing except his face. It blots out the rest of the world. I'll
plant my shot there--there in the middle of those lips."
"Anthony, that's William Drew, the squarest man on the range."
"Sally Fortune, that's William Drew, who murdered my father!"
"Ah!" she said, with sharply indrawn breath. "It isn't possible!"
"I saw the shot fired."
"But not this way, Anthony; not from behind a wall!"
His emotion changed him, made him almost a stranger to her. He was
shaking and palsied with eagerness.
"I could do nothing as bad as the crime he has done. For twenty years
the dread of his coming haunted my father, broke him, aged him
prematurely. Every day he went to a secret room and cared for his
revolver--this gun here in my hand, you see? He and I--we were more than
father and son--we were pals, Sally. And then this devil called my
father out into the night and shot him. Damn him!"
"You've got to listen to me, Anthony--"
"I'll listen to nothing, for there he is and--"
She said with a sharp, rising ring in her voice: "If you shoot at him
while he carries that white flag I'll--I'll send a bullet through your
head--that's straight! We got only one law in the mountains, and that's
the law of honour.
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