Be prepared, Jane." With a cold prickling of her skin, with a queer thrumming in her ears, with fixed and staring eyes, Jane saw a gun lying at her feet with chamber swung and empty, and discharged shells scattered near.
Outstretched upon the stable floor lay Blake, ghastly white--dead--one hand clutching a gun and the other twisted in his bloody blouse.
"Whoever the thieves were, whether your people or rustlers--Blake killed some of them!" said Lassiter.
"Thieves ?" whispered Jane.
"I reckon.

Hoss-thieves!...

Look!" Lassiter waved his hand toward the stalls.
The first stall--Bells's stall--was empty.

All the stalls were empty.

No racer whinnied and stamped greeting to her.