Jennie was trying to hold the plunging bay.

Euchre lay flat on his back, dead, a bullet-hole in his shirt, his face set hard, and his hands twisted round gun and bridle.
"Jennie, you've nerve, all right!" cried Duane, as he dragged down the horse she was holding.

"Up with you now! There! Never mind--long stirrups! Hang on somehow!" He caught his bridle out of Euchre's clutching grip and leaped astride.
The frightened horses jumped into a run and thundered down the lane into the road.

Duane saw men running from cabins.

He heard shouts.