As evidence it would not have convinced the most prejudiced jury in the world, but Sheriff Anderson was not weighing small points.

Into his mind leaped one image--the whiteness of those rocks on which he had stood and the indelible mark his heels must have made against that whiteness.

He was lost, he felt, and he acted on the impulse to fight for his life.
One last glance he cast at the six listeners, and in their wide-eyed interest he read his own damnation.

Then Anderson whirled and leaped for his belt with the guns.
Out of six throats came six yells of fear; there was a noise of chairs being pushed back and a wild scramble to find safety under the table.
Jud, risking a moment's delay, knocked the chimney off the lamp before he dived.

The flame leaped once and went out, but the pale moonshine poured through the window and filled the room with a weird play of shadows.
What Bull Hunter saw was not the escape of the sheriff, but a sudden blind rage against everything and everybody.