The girl picked up the rifle. She held the butt firmly against her shoulder and covered him. And, instead of quailing, she saw him stand a little more erect, his eyes full upon her. With her finger upon the trigger she sighted along the barrel to the left of his broad, exposed chest. She had only to bend that finger ever so little and Allston stood revenged. This was no more than simple justice. She repeated that word to herself--justice--as she raised her eyes to the gray of Bud’s eyes. The man did not flinch. He was holding himself taut, ready to receive the blow, but he did not flinch. His eyes were gray, but there was blue in them. They were gray, but there was light in them. They were gray, but back of them there was the magic of the dawn. It was as though something was a-borning there. Something a-borning to which her mother heart, willy-nilly, responded. She tried to fight off the emotion, but her trigger finger weakened. She tried still to fight it off, but her extended arms began to wobble. She lowered the rifle. “Bud Childers,” she said, “you knowed I couldn’ do thet. You knowed I couldn’ kill.” “I reckoned you’d kill me ef yuh hed the chanst,” he replied seriously. “You’re speakin’ honest?” “I reckoned yuh would.” Her mind was working quickly. She did not fully believe yet that any such change of heart had come over him. She was half ashamed to believe it. It was not like Bud to give up in this wise. He was depending upon her weakness. But there was one way to test him--one way that would prove conclusively if the man meant what he said or not. “Bud Childers,” she called, “hit ain’t fer me to hand out justice, but thar’s them thet will. An’ ef yo’re hones’ ye’ll walk back to th’ valley an’ pay like a man fer what yuh done.” A rifle bullet would have been merciful in comparison with those words. Bud staggered back a little--just a very little. He recovered quickly. Everything in his nature--everything there up to a few minutes ago--rebelled at the suggestion. The world swam about him. And yet here was a direct challenge--a challenge flung in his face. The eyes before him were even now, at this hesitancy, filling with mocking laughter. The lips were curling in scorn. “You--you ax me to do thet?” he faltered. “I _dare_ yuh to do thet,” she answered. He turned on his heels and led the way back to the mountain road.