He waded through the snow to where the man lay, face downward, his hand still gripping the rein.
Before Hamlin turned him over, he saw the jagged wound and knew death had been instantaneous.

He stared down at the white face, already powdered with snow; then glared about into the murky distances, revolver ready for action, every nerve throbbing.

God! If he ever met the murderer! Then swift reaction came, and he buried his eyes on the neck of the nearest horse, and his body shook with half-suppressed sobs.

The whole horror of it gripped him in that instant, broke his iron will, and left him weak as a child.
But the mood did not last.

Little by little he gained control, stood up again in the snow, and began to think.