He tried to intimidate her. She did not see his gun thrust in her face, or reason had given way to such an extent to passion that she did not care. She cursed. Her husband had used the same curses, and from her lips they seemed strange, unsexed, more deadly. Like a tigress she fought him; her face no longer resembled a woman's. The evil of that outlaw life, the wildness and rage, the meaning to kill, was even in such a moment terribly impressed upon Duane.
He heard a cry from outside--a man's cry, hoarse and alarming.
It made him think of loss of time. This demon of a woman might yet block his plan.
"Let go!" he whispered, and felt his lips stiff. In the grimness of that instant he relaxed his hold on the rifle-barrel.
With sudden, redoubled, irresistible strength she wrenched the rifle down and discharged it. Duane felt a blow--a shock--a burning agony tearing through his breast. Then in a frenzy he jerked so powerfully upon the rifle that he threw the woman against the wall. She fell and seemed stunned.
Duane leaped back, whirled, flew out of the door to the porch.
The sharp cracking of a gun halted him. He saw Jennie holding to the bridle of his bay horse. Euchre was astride the other, and he had a Colt leveled, and he was firing down the lane.
Then came a single shot, heavier, and Euchre's ceased. He fell from the horse.
A swift glance back showed to Duane a man coming down the lane.
Chess Alloway! His gun was smoking. He broke into a run. Then in an instant he saw Duane, and tried to check his pace as he swung up his arm. But that slight pause was fatal. Duane shot, and Alloway was falling when his gun went off. His bullet whistled close to Duane and thudded into the cabin.
Duane bounded down to the horses. Jennie was trying to hold the plunging bay. Euchre lay flat on his back, dead, a bullet-hole in his shirt, his face set hard, and his hands twisted round gun and bridle.
"Jennie, you've nerve, all right!" cried Duane, as he dragged down the horse she was holding. "Up with you now! There! Never mind--long stirrups! Hang on somehow!"He caught his bridle out of Euchre's clutching grip and leaped astride. The frightened horses jumped into a run and thundered down the lane into the road. Duane saw men running from cabins.
He heard shouts. But there were no shots fired. Jennie seemed able to stay on her horse, but without stirrups she was thrown about so much that Duane rode closer and reached out to grasp her arm.
Thus they rode through the valley to the trail that led up over, the steep and broken Rim Rock. As they began to climb Duane looked back. No pursuers were in sight.
"Jennie, we're going to get away!" he cried, exultation for her in his voice.
She was gazing horror-stricken at his breast, as in turning to look back he faced her.
"Oh, Duane, your shirt's all bloody!" she faltered, pointing with trembling fingers.
With her words Duane became aware of two things--the hand he instinctively placed to his breast still held his gun, and he had sustained a terrible wound.
Duane had been shot through the breast far enough down to give him grave apprehension of his life. The clean-cut hole made by the bullet bled freely both at its entrance and where it had come out, but with no signs of hemorrhage. He did not bleed at the mouth; however, he began to cough up a reddish-tinged foam.
As they rode on, Jennie, with pale face and mute lips, looked at him.
"I'm badly hurt, Jennie," he said, "but I guess I'll stick it out.""The woman--did she shoot you?"
"Yes. She was a devil. Euchre told me to look out for her. Iwasn't quick enough."
"You didn't have to--to--" shivered the girl.
"No! no!" he replied.
They did not stop climbing while Duane tore a scarf and made compresses, which he bound tightly over his wounds. The fresh horses made fast time up the rough trail. From open places Duane looked down. When they surmounted the steep ascent and stood on top of the Rim Rock, with no signs of pursuit down in the valley, and with the wild, broken fastnesses before them, Duane turned to the girl and assured her that they now had every chance of escape.
"But--your--wound!" she faltered, with dark, troubled eyes. "Isee--the blood--dripping from your back!"
"Jennie, I'll take a lot of killing," he said.
Then he became silent and attended to the uneven trail. He was aware presently that he had not come into Bland's camp by this route. But that did not matter; any trail leading out beyond the Rim Rock was safe enough. What he wanted was to get far away into some wild retreat where he could hide till he recovered from his wound. He seemed to feel a fire inside his breast, and his throat burned so that it was necessary for him to take a swallow of water every little while. He began to suffer considerable pain, which increased as the hours went by and then gave way to a numbness. From that time on he had need of his great strength and endurance. Gradually he lost his steadiness and his keen sight; and he realized that if he were to meet foes, or if pursuing outlaws should come up with him, he could make only a poor stand. So he turned off on a trail that appeared seldom traveled.
Soon after this move he became conscious of a further thickening of his senses. He felt able to hold on to his saddle for a while longer, but he was failing. Then he thought he ought to advise Jennie, so in case she was left alone she would have some idea of what to do.
"Jennie, I'll give out soon," he said. "No-I don't mean--what you think. But I'll drop soon. My strength's going. If Idie--you ride back to the main trail. Hide and rest by day.
Ride at night. That trail goes to water. I believe you could get across the Nueces, where some rancher will take you in."Duane could not get the meaning of her incoherent reply. He rode on, and soon he could not see the trail or hear his horse.
He did not know whether they traveled a mile or many times that far. But he was conscious when the horse stopped, and had a vague sense of falling and feeling Jennie's arms before all became dark to him.
