Her cheek felt warmly numb. She pressed a quick hand
involuntarily against it, and drew it away sticky with blood.
_Click! Click! Click_!
Three times the revolver mechanism was worked to accomplish her
destruction. But there was no further report. The cylinder was empty.
"Oh, God!" the woman moaned. "I fed you and offered to help you. I
refused to shoot you because of your mother--your wife--your babies.
And yet you----"
"Where's your cartridges?" he cried wildly. "You got more; gimme
that belt!"
She felt his touch upon her. His crazy fingers tried to unbutton the
clasp of the belt and holster. But he could secure neither while she
fought him. He pinioned her at length with his knee. His fingers
secured a fistful of the cylinders from her girdle, and he opened
the chamber of the revolver.
She realized the end was but a matter of moments. Nothing but a
miracle could save her now.
Convulsively she groped about for something with which to strike.
Nothing lay within reach of her bleeding fingers, however, but a
little piece of dried sapling. She tried to struggle loose, but the
lunatic held her mercilessly. He continued the mechanical loading of
the revolver.
The semi-darkness of the hut, the outline of the moon afar through
the uncurtained window--these swam before her.
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