Still on his hind feet, the stallion whirled, turning once more toward the cut in the wall, and came down—his shod forefeet full upon her breast. He leaped over her body and was gone, his empty saddle shining with its vanity of silver.
A silence of death fell for a moment in the peaceful Pot.
Then two men moved.
McKane, the trader who leaped from his horse and knelt by Kate Cathrew, and Big Basford who flung up his arms and shook his clawing fingers toward the western wall.
“You killed her!” he shrieked, “You yellow devil—you’ve killed Kate Cathrew! And I’ll kill you!”
He kicked his horse viciously and shot forward.
Bud Allison, the boy whom none had noticed, raised his Pappy’s gun and fired.
Big Basford toppled to the left and slid out of his saddle with an audible grunt. He rolled over, shook his good fist toward the serene skies, and was still.
Slowly the group drew in to look at Cattle Kate lying so quietly after the storm.
McKane was holding her hand between his own and murmuring foolish, endearing words. Lawrence Arnold pushed him aside with an oath.