When he reached the lower end of
the level ledge Gale's poignant doubt became a certainty. Rojas
had seen Mercedes. It was incredible, yet Gale believed it. Then,
his heart clamped as in an icy vise, Gale threw forward the
Remington, and sinking on one knee, began to shoot. He emptied
the magazine. Puffs of dust near Rojas did not even make him turn.
As Gale began to reload he was horror-stricken by a low cry from
Thorne. The cavalryman had recovered consciousness. He was
half raised, pointing with shaking hand at the opposite ledge. His
distended eyes were riveted upon Rojas. He was trying to utter
speech that would not come.
Gale wheeled, rigid now, steeling himself to one last forlorn hope
--that Mercedes could defend herself. She had a gun. He doubted
not at all that she would use it. But, remembering her terror of
this savage, he feared for her.
Rojas reached the level of the ledge. He halted. He crouched.
It was the act of a panther. Manifestly he saw Mercedes within
the cave. Then faint shots patted the air, broke in quick echo.
Rojas went down as if struck a heavy blow. He was hit.
But even as Gale yelled in sheer madness the bandit leaped erect.
He seemed too quick, too supple to be badly wounded. A slight,
dark figure flashed out of the cave. Mercedes! She backed
against the wall. Gale saw a puff of white--heard a report. But
the bandit lunged at her. Mercedes ran, not to try to pass him, but
straight for the precipice.
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