Again the thoughts of the taunts of the other boys, should they ever know that he lacked the nerve to take advantage of the moment, came to him, and he gulped something hard that rose in his throat, and drew out his revolver. At that moment the man in black turned and looked over his shoulder, his dead face gleaming white, out of which shone those terrible black eyes. The revolver stopped suddenly in its upward course, and Carl's jaw dropped as he stared in abject fear at that white and expressionless face. Then the man in black turned his horrible face once more to the fore, and rode on. Something inside of Carl seemed to snap, and a great glow of courage swept over him. He fairly hated the sight of the grim rider in front of him, who was taking him he knew not where, and whom he yet dreaded with all his heart. Up came the revolver again, and, almost before he realized what he was doing, Carl was firing, straight at the back in front of him. The target could not be fairer, that black mark against the snow. The first ball struck, for Carl heard the thud of it, as if it had struck and sunk into something soft. The report of the weapon crashed through the still night, and was carried far on the frosty air, reverberating and echoing back from the distant mountains. But the creature in whose body the ball had lodged did not seem to know it. The head was not turned, the body did not lurch or sway. Carl, now blind to everything but the terror that had taken possession of him, fired again and again until every chamber in his revolver was empty, pausing after every shot to note the effect. That every shot was fair he was sure, for he could hear the sound of the impact of the bullet. The recipient of the bullets seemed not to know that they had been fired, for he did not hasten or retard the progress of the horse, nor did he take any personal notice that they gave him any discomfort. But when Carl ceased firing he threw his head backward, looking over his shoulder again, and from that hideous face without nose or mouth came a gurgling noise that was like, and yet not like, laughter. The laughter was worse on Carl's nerves than the silence, and he felt himself grow sick at heart. How could he expect to fight or escape from a devil impervious to the balls from a Colt forty-five? Then, to Carl's amazement and relief, the black horse sprang forward over the snow so swiftly that it seemed as if it was flying rather than running, but this probably was due to the uncertainty and the illusion of the moonlight, and vanished into thin air, leaving Carl staring open-mouthed. It was several minutes before Carl regained his senses and knew that he was sitting with his revolver in his hand, staring into space and seeing nothing. Then he rode slowly forward to the brink of a deep coulee. Here was where he had last seen the phantom rider, for such Carl had at last come to regard him.