The hands at his throat
relaxed. He swayed to his feet and with dazed eyes and a weird
sort of laugh opened his arms. Celie ran into them. He felt her
sobbing and panting against him. Then, looking down, he saw that
for the present the man who had made the strange snowshoe trail
was as good as dead.
The air he was taking into his half strangled lungs cleared his
head and he drew away from Celie to begin the search of the room.
His eyes were more accustomed to the gloom, and suddenly he gave a
cry of exultation. Against the end of the mud and stone fireplace
stood a rifle and over the muzzle of this hung a belt and holster.
In the holster was a revolver. In his excitement and joy his
breath was almost a sob as he snatched it from the holster and
broke it in the light of the door. It was a big Colt Forty-five--
and loaded to the brim. He showed it to Celie, and thrust her to
the door.
"Watch!" he cried, sweeping his arm to the open. "Just two minutes
more. That's all I want--two minutes--and then--"
He was counting the cartridges in the belt as he fastened it about
his waist.
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