He reasoned that as he had seen no one leave the house from the other side or the front, whoever had been with Betty had made his escape in this direction, and he drew a breath of satisfaction when, approaching some underbrush near the kitchen, he saw outlined in the moonlight the figure of a man on a horse.
The latter had evidently just mounted, for at the instant Calumet saw him he had just settled into the saddle, one foot searching for a stirrup.

He was about seventy-five feet distant, and he turned at about the instant that Calumet saw him.

That instant was enough for Calumet, for as the man turned his face was bathed for a fraction of a second in the moonlight, and Calumet recognized him.

It was Neal Taggart.
Calumet halted.

His six-shooter roared at the exact second that the man buried his spurs in the flanks of his horse and threw himself forward upon its neck.
The bullet must have missed him only by a narrow margin, but it did miss, for he made no sign of injury.