Then she shot.
Slone's glance shifted. He did not see the bullet strike up dust. The figures
of the men remained the same--Hutchinson straining, Cordts. . . . No, Cordts
was not the same! A strange change seemed manifest in his long form. It did
not seem instinct with effort. Yet it moved.
Hutchinson also was acting strangely, yelling, heaving, wrestling. But he
could not help Cordts. He lifted violently, raised Cordts a little, and then
appeared to be in peril of losing his balance.
Cordts leaned against the cliff. Then it dawned upon Slone that Lucy had hit
the horse-thief. Hard hit! He would not--he could not let go of Hutchinson.
His was a death clutch. The burly Hutchinson slipped from his knee-hold, and
as he moved Cordts swayed, his feet left the ledge, he hung, upheld only by
the tottering comrade.
What a harsh and terrible cry from Hutchinson! He made one last convulsive
effort and it doomed him. Slowly he lost his balance. Cordts's dark, evil,
haunting face swung round. Both men became lax and plunged, and separated.
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