Andrews flopped here and there, trying to arise, but every time the heavy knotted halter beat him down.
Presently Steele stopped.

Andrews rose right in front of the Ranger, and there, like the madman he was, he went for his gun.
But it scarcely leaped from its holster when Steele's swift hand intercepted it.

Steele clutched Andrews' arm.
Then came a wrench, a cracking of bones, a scream of agony.
The gun dropped into the dust; and in a moment of wrestling fury Andrews, broken, beaten down, just able to moan, lay beside it.
Steele, so cool and dark for a man who had acted with such passionate swiftness, faced the others as if to dare them to move.

They neither moved nor spoke, and then he strode away.
Miss Sampson did not speak a word while we were riding the rest of the way home, but she was strangely white of face and dark of eye.

Sally could not speak fast enough to say all she felt.
And I, of course, had my measure of feelings.