They were come already across the most of the plain of naked rock that is the top of the mountain. They had rushed without pause through the little grove of dwarf pines that grows near the Devil's Slide, above the Cauldron. They were come, indeed, to the very edge of the Slide itself before Plutina acted. After all, it was not the new courage, but a newer fear, that forced her. She had one swift glimpse of the valley spread a thousand feet below, the giant trees like tiniest saplings, so far away--that dear, adorable valley, where were home and peace and love. But, between her and it, the precipice fell; between her and it, the Devil's Pot boiled; between her and it was this man, who drove her with curses. She looked away from the beloved valley into the loathsome face, and she saw the fear in his eyes--fear, and something else that terrified her. She realized suddenly that she was on the very verge of the Slide, where none might venture and live. There, just beyond, was the darkened surface of the rock where the shallow stream went slithering down into the Cauldron. An hysteria of fear gripped her, as he dragged her forward, out upon the sloping stone that dipped toward the abyss. She believed that he meant to hurl her from the height. Thus, there would be left no evidence of his crime. His passion for her was nothing now--only his passion for life.

"Quick, damn ye!" Hodges rasped. "I know the way in the dark. Ye needn't be skeered none with me."

He meant it; but the girl did not believe. She thought it a ruse to get her closer to the edge. She shrieked in despair, and sprang away from him. His clutch on the thong checked her. He jerked her back to him, hardly pausing in his stride. She struck at his face furiously, but he dragged her on toward the brink, mouthing at her with foul oaths. She fell to her knees, and hung, screaming, a dead weight. The baying of the hound sounded closer. Hodges threw a glance over his shoulder, and saw the dog charging from the grove. He would have fired, but the girl was in the way. With a final blasphemy, he dropped his rifle, and struck at her--full in the face. She sank down limply, unconscious. Her body slid away slowly, yet with a quickening movement, toward the gulf.

Hodges gave not even a look to his victim. He heard the challenge of the hound, now fairly upon him. There was no time to shoot. He used cunning instead. A mighty jump carried him over the moist surface where the stream flowed. He alighted on the dry rock. His bare feet clutched and held on the sloping surface.... No instinct warned the hound. Its leap brought it down in the wet run-way. Its feet shot from under. The force of its rush finished the work. The outlaw turned just in time to see the hound disappear over the cliff.




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