The first man at whom he had ever aimed a weapon he had shot through the heart.

With the clammy sweat oozing from every pore Venters dragged the rustler in among some boulders and covered him with slabs of rock.

Then he smoothed out the crushed trail in grass and sage.

The rustler's horse had stopped a quarter of a mile off and was grazing.
When Venters rapidly strode toward the Masked Rider not even the cold nausea that gripped him could wholly banish curiosity.

For he had shot Oldring's infamous lieutenant, whose face had never been seen.