The two horsemen were covered.

The Colt would kill at more than five hundred yards, and it had no more to do than carry sixty.

And still those two fools sat on their horses, and babbled to one another, and looked out to sea.
"What am I to do with this loco Ingles ?" Jose Medina speculated, wringing his hands in an agony of apprehension.

He had no share in those memories which at this moment invaded Martin Hillyard, and touched every fibre of his soul.

Martin Hillyard, though his eye never left the sights of his Colt nor his mind wavered from his purpose, was with a subordinate consciousness stealing in the dark night up the footpath between the big, leafy trees over the rustic railway bridge to the summit of the hill.