But Brand Fair turned his eyes for the first time toward that farther wall. For a moment he did not recognize the creature which knelt there, the smoking rifle across its knee, its face covered with both hands.
Then something familiar in the drooping shoulders, the ragged veil of shining hair, struck home to him.
Without a word he went forward and dismounted.
Incredulously he stooped and took the hands away.
Wide eyed he looked at her.
“Nance!” he cried in horror, “Nance—Nance—Nance! God Almighty! What’s this?”
“I am forsaken of my God,” said the girl piteously, “I had to kill her—or she’d have killed you!”
“You didn’t,” said Fair sharply, “the stallion killed her. Your shot went wild.”
She looked at him dully, uncomprehending, and Fair repeated his words. As she realized their import her lips began to quiver, she rolled down upon the trampled grass with her face to the sod, and wept.
Brand Fair, knowing that this matter was between her soul and its Maker, wisely did not attempt to comfort her.