It was followed by a sudden stillness that was almost bewildering, and when a blink of moonlight came streaming down, Trooper Shannon grabbed at his carbine, for a man stood close beside him in the trail.

The lad, who had neither seen nor heard him come, looked down on the glinting barrel of a Marlin rifle and saw a set white face behind it.
"Hands up!" said a hoarse voice.

"Throw that thing down." Trooper Shannon recognized it, and all the fierce hate he was capable of flamed up.

It shook him with a gust of passion, and it was not fear that caused his stiffened fingers to slip upon the carbine.

It fell with a rattle, and while he sat still, almost breathless and livid in face, the man laughed a little.
"That's better, get down," he said.
Trooper Shannon flung himself from the saddle, and alighted heavily as a flung-off sack would have done, for his limbs refused to bend.