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Margaret Kinney's heart ceased beating in that breathless instant

after the two dauntless friends had flung defiance to two

hundred. There was a sudden tightening of her throat, a fixing of

dilated eyes on what would have been a thrilling spectacle had it

not meant so much more to her. For as she leaned forward in the

saddle with parted lips she knew a passionate surge of fear for

one of the apparently doomed men that went through her like swift

poison, that left her dizzy with the shock of it.

The thought of action came to her too late. As Dunke stepped back

to give the signal for attack she cried out his name, but her

voice was drowned in the yell of rage that filled the street. She

tried to spur her horse into the crowd, to force a way to the men

standing with such splendid fearlessness above this thirsty pack

of wolves. But the denseness of the throng held her fixed even

while revolvers flashed.