He struck up the rifle as it went off, the powder burning his face.
"Jennie, run out! Get on a horse!" he said.
Jennie flashed out of the door.
With an iron grasp Duane held to the rifle-barrel.

He had grasped it with his left hand, and he gave such a pull that he swung the crazed woman off the floor.

But he could not loose her grip.

She was as strong as he.
"Kate! Let go!" He tried to intimidate her.

She did not see his gun thrust in her face, or reason had given way to such an extent to passion that she did not care.