He lay flat, with his cheek on the sand, and he had to look ahead and upward to make out the dark figure of Greaves on the bank.
One way or another he meant to kill Greaves, and he had the will power to resist the strongest gust of passion that had ever stormed his breast.

If he arose and shot the rustler, that act would defeat his plan of slipping on around upon the other outposts who were firing at the cabins.

Jean wanted to call softly to Greaves, "You're right about the half-breed!" and then, as he wheeled aghast, to kill him as he moved.

But it suited Jean to risk leaping upon the man.

Jean did not waste time in trying to understand the strange, deadly instinct that gripped him at the moment.