Whitley was so wrought up that all these details impressed themselves
upon his mind in an instant, and it seemed hours from the moment the
horseman appeared until he was opposite the rock, though it could have
been but a few seconds.
The watcher caught one glimpse of the rider's face, square jawed, keen
eyed, determined, alert, stained by wind and weather.
"Crack!" went the rifle behind Whitley.
Like a flash the weapon of the rider flew to his shoulder. "Crack!"
and the bark flew from the tree within an inch of Jake's face.
Whitley saw the spurs strike and the rider lean forward in his saddle
to meet the spring of his horse. "Crack!" Jake's rifle spoke again.
A mocking laugh came back from the road as the flying horseman passed
from sight. Then, "I'll see you later," came in ringing tones, and the
thud, thud, thud, of the galloping horse died away in the distance.
The mountaineer delivered himself of a volley of oaths, while Whitley
stood quietly looking at him, his mind filled with strange thoughts.
The man who could deliberately fire from ambush with intent to kill
was the man for his purpose.
"Who is he?" Jim asked at last, when the other stopped swearing long
enough to fill his mouth with fresh tobacco.
"A revenoo, an' I done missed him clean." He began to curse again.
"He came near getting you though," said the other, pointing to the
mark of the horseman's bullet.
"Yas, hit war' Bill Davis. Aint nary other man in the hull dad burned
outfit could er done hit.
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