Mark felt the rock move, tilt slightly. He relaxed his hold, seeing that the rock did not settle back again, and turned to look down. Now there was a small gap between the rock and the ground and he knew he could only achieve his aim in one way.
Bending down, Mark put his hands under the edge of the rock, setting his feet a short distance apart and bending his
legs. Then he began to lift. Although he felt the tremendous dead weight upon his hands, Mark did not give in. His face twisted in the strain and he felt as if his back would cave in under the weight. Yet he did not give in. Slowly the rock rose and Mark kept on his relentless lifting, moving over a thousand pounds weight by his giant strength.
"Just look at that man!" Britches gasped, forgetting to use her carbine as she watched Mark's efforts.
"Whooee! He makes Bill or any of the boys look like weaklings!" Annie replied, resting her carbine and not firing. "What a man!"
With a final heave, Mark lifted the rock past its point of balance and it started to tilt forward. Mark gave a final thrust and the huge rock turned over, going away from him, bounding and rolling down the slope. Gasping for breath, Mark sank to the ground, but he knew he might still have need to defend himself.
Not until the huge rock began to roll did the two bounty hunters become aware of their danger. The first warning they received came with a dull rumbling sound that drew their attention up the slope. They saw the huge rock rolling, at an ever-increasing speed, down towards their hide-out.
Rushton, nearest to the rolling rock, flung himself clear and leapt to safety. Perhaps Kinnear would have been safe in the shelter between the two rocks, but he panicked. Rising hurriedly he tried to dive over the rock on the side away from the rolling menace. His right foot slipped and he fell on to the rock he was trying to climb over. A glance over his shoulder told him he was not going to make it. His scream of terror chopped off in a hideous crunching crash as the huge rock smashed down, coming to rest where Kinnear and his cover had been.
Shaken by the scream, Rushton staggered forward. He still held his rifle and his eyes went up the slope to where Mark stood with hanging head and fighting to recover from his exertion. Throwing up the rifle, Rushton fired a shot at the big Texan, but his nerves had been jolted and he missed. With fumbling fingers Rushton tried to work his rifle's lever.
The bullet missed Mark by inches. It served to warn him of his danger. At that range a man would have to use sights to
make a hit and he knew he must hit—or die. He could guess that Annie and Britches would be in no condition to help him after what they must have seen when the rock landed on Kinnear.
Mark's right hand Colt came from leather and lifted. Raising the weapon shoulder high, he gripped and supported his right hand with the left, extending his arms almost straight. Sighting the V notch in the tip of the hammer and the foresight, Mark aimed down at Rushton. He fired four shots as fast as he could work back the hammer. The first three bullets missed Rushton, getting closer all the time, as the bounty hunter finished working the lever and sighted again. If the fourth bullet missed, Mark would be a dead man.
It did not miss. Grazing the barrel of the rifle, Mark's .44 bullet whirled off in the buzz-saw action of a ricochet to strike full into the centre of Rushton's forehead. It threw him backwards from his feet, his rifle firing off one wild shot as it fell from his lifeless hand.
Like the circuit riding preacher used to say: he who lives by the gun shall die with leafd in his hide. Rushton had killed five men in cold blood for the bounty on their heads. He would never kill again.
Holstering his gun, Mark walked slowly down the slope. He saw the cabin door burst open and waved the girls back inside. Kinnear's body unde r the huge rock was no sight for a girl to see, even if she was a tough lady outlaw.
Mark counted off a thousand dollars from his wallet and handed it to Cattle Annie.
"Here," he said, "I'm in a hurry to get back to the O.D. Connected. So I'll pay you the ransom and save you holding me until pappy gets up here."
The girls, both wearing new shirts and cleaned up— though showing marks of their fight—stared at the money, then at the big blond Texan. He had buried the two dead bounty hunters and done what he could about hiding all that remained in sight of the third. Now he was preparing to resume his interrupted journey.
"You don't have to give us this," Annie objected and
Britches nodded in agreement, their earlier rivalry forgotten.
"Sure I do," Mark replied. "Business is business. Whyn't you girls go off and spend it someplace far from here?"
"That wouldn't be fair to the boys," Britches explained.
"It sure wouldn't," Annie agreed.
Mark shrugged. He knew he could not persuade the girls to change their way of life. Still they seemed happy in it and he reckoned Bill Doolin would see nothing serious happened to them. Swinging afork his bloodbay, Mark raised his hat to the girls.
"If I'm ever up this way again, I'll look you up," he promised. "Adios."
Standing side by side, their arms around each other's waists, Cattle Annie and Little Britches watched Mark riding south. The little girl sighed and turned to her friend.
"Did he—last night—you know—did he?"
For a moment Annie thought of lying. Then she shook her head.
"No," she said, sounding a little regretful. "How about you?"
"Me neither," Britches confessed just a shade wistfully. "Do you think he knows that we've—that we're—"
"How could he?"
But Mark did know. Which same was one of the reasons he had not accepted their invitation to stay on for another night. Which same was also the reason why he aimed to steer clear of Cattle Annie and Little Britches—well, at least until they got to be a few years older.
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