He hugged the shadow of a tree.

Again the starlight, brighter now, aided him, and he made out Tull's stalwart figure, and beside him the short, froglike shape of the rider Jerry.
They were silent, and they rode on to disappear.
Venters went his way with busy, gloomy mind, revolving events of the day, trying to reckon those brooding in the night.

His thoughts overwhelmed him.

Up in that dark grove dwelt a woman who had been his friend.

And he skulked about her home, gripping a gun stealthily as an Indian, a man without place or people or purpose.