"You have to leave us, and never come back?" "Is he as sure as that, Jack?" "Sure? Who?" She had not known, after all; she thought that he was merely riding away from the region where McGurk was king. Now she caught his wrists and shook them. "Pierre, you are not going to face McGurk? Pierre!" "If you were a man, you would understand." "I know; because of your father. I do understand, but oh, Pierre, listen! I can shoot as straight as almost any man. We will ride down together. We will go through the doors together--me first to take his fire, and you behind to shoot him down." "I guess no man can be as brave as a woman, Jack. No; I have to see McGurk alone. He faced my father alone and shot him down. I'll face McGurk alone and live long enough to put my mark on him." "But you don't know him. He can't be hurt. Do you think my father and--and Dick Wilbur would fear any man who could be hurt? No, but McGurk has been in a hundred fights and never been touched. There's a charm over him, don't you see?" "I'll break the charm, that's all." He was up in the saddle. "Then I'll call dad--I'll call them all--if you die they shall all follow you. I swear they shall. Pierre!" He merely leaned forward and touched the horse with his spurs, but after he had raced the first hundred yards he glanced back. She was running hard for the house, and calling as she went. Pierre cursed and spurred the horse again. Yet even if Jim Boone and his men started out after him they could never overtake him. Before they were in their saddles and up with him, he'd be a full three miles out in the hills. Not even black Thunder could make up as much ground as that. So all the fifteen miles to Gaffney's place he urged his horse. The excitement of the race kept the thought of McGurk back in his mind. Only once he lost time when he had to pull up beside a buckboard and inquire the way. After that he flew on again. Yet as he clattered up to the door of Gaffney's crossroads saloon and swung to the ground he looked back and saw a cluster of horsemen swing around the shoulder of a hill and come tearing after him. Surely his time was short. He thrust open the door of the place and called for a drink. The bartender spun the glass down the bar to him. "Where's McGurk?" The other stopped in the very act of taking out the bottle from the shelf, and his curious glance went over the face of Pierre le Rouge. He decided, apparently, that it was foolish to hold suspicions against so young a man. "In that room," and he jerked his hand toward a door. "What do you want with him?" "Got a message for him." "Tell it to me, and I'll pass it along." Pierre met the eye of the other and smiled faintly. "Not _this_ message." "Oh," said the other, and then shouted: "McGurk!"