Bill and Guy reached his side as Jean pulled his heaving horse to a halt.

They all looked at Jean, swiftly and intently, with a little, hard, fiery gleam strangely identical in the eyes of each.
Probably before a word was spoken they knew what to expect.
"Wal, you shore was in a hurry," remarked the father.
"What the hell's up ?" queried Bill, grimly.
Guy Isbel remained silent and it was he who turned slightly pale.

Jean leaped off his horse.
"Bernardino has just been killed--murdered with his own gun." Gaston Isbel seemed to exhale a long-dammed, bursting breath that let his chest sag.

A terrible deadly glint, pale and cold as sunlight on ice, grew slowly to dominate his clear eyes.
"A-huh!" ejaculated Bill Isbel, hoarsely.
Not one of the three men asked who had done the killing.

They were silent a moment, motionless, locked in the secret seclusion of their own minds.