'd busted her leg. I put her out of pain."

Gregg dropped into a chair. It was not altogether an affectation, not
altogether a piece of skilful acting now, for though the sheriff had
told him all that happened he had not had a chance to feel the truth;
but now it swept over him, all her tricks, all her deviltry, all that
long companionship. His head bowed.

No smile touched the faces of the others in the room, but a reverent
silence fell on the room. Then that figure among the shadows moved out,
stepped to the side of Vic, and a light hand rested on his shoulder. The
other looked up, haggard.

"She's gone, partner," Dan said gently, "but she's paid for."

"Paid for? Dan, they ain't any money could pay me back for Grey Molly."

"I know; I know! Not that way, but there was a life given for a life."

"Eh?"

"One man died for Molly."

As the meaning came home to Gregg he blinked, and then, looking up, he
found a change in the eyes of Barry, for they seemed to be lighted from
within coldly, and his glance went down to the very bottom of Vic's
soul, probing. It was only an instant, a thing of which Gregg could not
make sure, and then Dan slipped back into his place among the shadows by
the wall. But a chill sense of guilt, a premonition of danger, stayed in
Gregg. The palms of his hands grew moist.

Chapter XV. Seven For One

Dangerous men were no novelty for Gregg. He had lived with them, worked
with them, as hard-fisted himself as any, and as ready for trouble, but
the man of the mountain-desert has a peculiar dread for the practiced,
known gun-fighter. In the days of the rapier when the art of fence grew
so complicated that half a life was needed for its mastery, men would as
soon commit suicide as ruffle it with an assured duellist; and the man
of the mountain-desert has a similar respect for those who are born, it
might be said, gun in hand. There was ample reason for the prickling in
his scalp, Vic felt, for here he sat on an errand of consummate danger
with three of these deadly fighters. Two of them he knew by name and
repute, however dimly, and as for Buck Daniels, unless all signs failed
the dark, sharp-eyed fellow was hardly less grim than the others. Vic
gauged the three one by one. Daniels might be dreaded for an outburst
of wild temper and in that moment he could be as terrible as any. Lee
Haines would fight coolly, his blue eyes never clouded by passion, for
that was his repute as the right hand