At once a quiver jerked through the tense bodies of the waiting men, but the white horse had merely stiffened and raised his head high.

Now, with arched neck and flaunting tail he neighed loudly, as if he asked a question.

How could he know, dumb brute, that what he asked only death could answer?
And as they waited an itching came at the palm of McGurk's hand.

It was not much, just a tingle of the blood.

To ease it, he closed his fingers and found that his hand was moist with cold perspiration.
He began to wonder if his fingers would be slippery on the butt of the gun.