He sneaked back, lifted himself and took another long look.

The old woman was rocking back and forth, her face quiet with that terrible, pent placidity which Casey could not understand.
Away from the cabin a pebble's throw, he shook his shoulders and pulled his mind away from her, back to the man with the rifle--and to Barney.
Rocking in a chair never hurt anybody that he ever heard of.

And shooting from rim-rocks did.

And Barney was down there, holed up and helpless, though he had grub and water.

Casey was up here in a mighty dangerous place without much grub or water but--he hoped--not quite helpless.