It was Joan, and for Joan! "Not a step!" she whispered, and jerked out her gun.

"Not a step!" He stood with one hand trailing carelessly from his hip, and at the gleam of her steel his other hand dropped to a holster, fumbled there, and came away empty; he could not touch her, not with the weight of a finger.

That thoughtful whistle came again: once more the answering whistle drifted out from the house; and he moved forward another pace.
She had chosen her mark carefully, the upper corner of the seam of the pocket upon his shirt, and before his foot struck the ground she fired.
For an instant she felt that she missed the mark, for he stood perfectly upright, but when she saw that the yellow was gone from his eyes.

They were empty of everything except a great wonder.

He wavered to his knees, and then sank down with his arms around Black Bart.