The surprise was his strength.
In Holderness's amber eyes shone his desperate calculation of chances.
Hare's fateful glance, impossible to elude, his strung form slightly
crouched, his cold deliberate mention of Naab's trick, and more than all
the poise of that quivering hand, filled the rustler with a terror that
he could not hide.
He had been bidden to draw and he could not summon the force.
"Naab's trick!" repeated Hare, mockingly.
Suddenly Holderness reached for his gun.
Hare's hand leapt like a lightning stroke. Gleam of blue--spurt of red--
crash!
Holderness swayed with blond head swinging backward; the amber of his
eyes suddenly darkened; the life in them glazed; like a log he fell
clutching the weapon he had half drawn.
XX
THE RAGE OF THE OLD LION
"TAKE Holderness away--quick!" ordered Hare. A thin curl of blue smoke
floated from the muzzle of his raised weapon.
The rustlers started out of their statue-like immobility, and lifting
their dead leader dragged him down the garden path with his spurs
clinking on the gravel and ploughing little furrows.
"Bishop, go in now.
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