there were thousands who had sworn that Allister was invincible—that he would never fall before a single man.
He thought, too, of the lean face and the peculiar, set eye of Dozier. The man had no fear, he had no nerves; he was a machine, and death was his business.
And was he, Andrew Lanning, unknown until the past few months, now going down to face destruction, as full of fear as a girl trembling at the dark? What was it that drew them together, so unfairly matched? A ghostly thought came to him that all this had been planned and arranged by some unearthly power, and now, against his will, he was dragged into the path of the destroyer.
He could still see only the white haze of the moonshine before him, but now there was the clicking of hoofs on the rock. Dozier was coming. Andrew walked squarely out into the middle of the ravine and waited. He had set his teeth. The nerves on the bottom of his feet were twitching. Something freezing cold was beginning at the tips of his fingers. And, unless he fought those beginnings down, a great trembling would sweep over him in a moment, and he would be helpless. How long would it take Dozier to come?
An interminable time. The hoofbeats actually seemed
to fade out and draw away at one time. Then they
began again very near him, and now they stopped. Had
Dozier seen him around the elbow curve? That heartbreaking instant passed, and the clicking began again.
Then the rider came slowly in view. First there was
the nodding head of the cow pony, then the foot in the
stirrup, then Hal Dozier riding a little twisted in the
saddle—a famous characteristic of his.
He came on closer and closer. He began to seem huge on the horse. Was he blind not to see the figure that waited for him?
