His instant action in throwing himself forward had undoubtedly saved his life.

Calumet swung the pistol over his head and brought it down to a quick level, whipping another shot after the fleeing rider.

But evidently the latter had anticipated the action, for as he rode he jumped his horse from one side to another, and as the distance was already great, and growing greater, he made an elusive target.
Calumet saw his failure and stood silent, watching until Taggart was well out into the valley, riding hard, a cloud of dust enveloping him.
A yell reached Calumet from the distance--derisive, defiant, mocking.
Calumet cursed then, giving voice to his rage and disappointment.
He went glumly around to the front of the house and closed the door to the office.

When he stepped off the porch, afterward, intending to go around the way he had come in order to enter the house, he heard a voice above him, and turned to see Dade, his head sticking out of an upstairs window, his hair in disorder, his eyes bulging, a forty-five gleaming in his hand.

Back of him, his head over Dade's shoulder, stood Malcolm, and Bob's thin face showed between the two.
At another window, one of the front ones, was Betty.