The Death Shot. Майн Рид
heads close together, they converse for a while, sotto voce.
Not so low, but that a title, the terror of all malefactors, can be heard repeatedly pronounced.
And also a name; the same, which, throughout all the evening has been upon their lips, bandied about, spoken of with gritting teeth and brows contracted.
Not all of those, who watch with the widow are admitted to this muttering council. Simon Woodley, who presides over it, has his reasons for excluding some. Only men take part in it who can be relied on for an emergency, such as that the hunter has before him.
Their conference closed, four of them, as if by agreement with the others, separate from the group, glide out through the wicket-gate, and on to their horses left tied to the roadside rail fence.
“Unhitching” these, they climb silently into their saddles, and as silently slip away; only some muttered words passing between them, as they ride along the road.
Among these may be heard the name of a man, conjoined to a speech, under the circumstances significant:—
“Let’s straight to the Sheriff!”
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