The feel of his horse labouring up the trail held nothing of
exhilaration for Endicott. He had galloped out of Wolf River with the
words of the half-breed ringing in his ears: "Mebbe-so you ride lak'
hell you com' long in tam'!" But, would he "com' long in tam'"? There
had been something of sinister portent in that swift merging together
of the two figures upon the sky-line, and in the flash-like glimpse of
the riderless horse. Frantically he dug his spurless heels into the
labouring sides of his mount.

"Mebbe-so you kill um good," the man had said at parting, and as
Endicott rode he knew that he would kill, and for him the knowledge
held nothing of repugnance--only a wild fierce joy. He looked at the
revolver in his hand. Never before had the hand held a lethal weapon,
yet no slightest doubt as to his ability to use it entered his brain.
Above him, somewhere upon the plain beyond the bench rim, the woman he
loved was at the mercy of a man whom Endicott instinctively knew would
stop at nothing to gain an end. The thought that the man he intended
to kill was armed and that he was a dead shot never entered his head,
nor did he remember that the woman had mocked and ignored him, and
against his advice had wilfully placed herself in the man's power. She
had harried and exasperated him beyond measure--and yet he loved her.

The trail grew suddenly lighter. The walls of the coulee flattened
into a wide expanse of open. Mountains loomed in the distance and in
the white moonlight a riderless horse ceased snipping grass, raised his
head, and with ears cocked forward, stared at him. In a fever of
suspense Endicott gazed about him, straining his eyes to penetrate the
half-light, but the plain stretched endlessly away, and upon its
surface was no living, moving thing.