Gratton was pressing tight to Gloria, seeking futilely to get behind her.  He began to articulate—­to beg—­to promise——­

Brodie fired.  A great reverberating roar filled the cavern.  Gloria, her brain gone suddenly numb, felt the grip on her arm tighten convulsively.  Then it relaxed—­slowly.  Gratton, his eyes bulging, his mouth wide open, was sinking——­

Gloria put her hands over her eyes and screamed.  Again and again her scream broke from her.  She tried to draw back, to run.  But all her strength was gone.  She crumpled and settled down almost as Gratton had done, and so close to him that she brushed him with her knee.  She felt the body twitch.  She leaped to her feet and ran blindly, screaming.  She struck against the rock wall and sank down again.

The wonder was that she did not swoon outright.  As it was, her soul seemed to float dizzily out of her body and through an utter dark.  She thought that she was dying.  As though across a vast distance she heard voices.

“Well?” It was the man who had done the shooting, his voice truculent.  “Anybody got anything to say?  Say it quick, if you have.”

There was a silence.  Then a shuffling of feet.  Then an answering voice, thin and querulous.  It was Benny; he, too, had killed his man.

“He had it coming,” he said eagerly.  “Any judge would say so.  Stole every bit of grub when stealing grub is the same as cutting a man’s throat, just like you said, Brodie.  He had it coming.  You done right.”

“You, Jarrold,” demanded Brodie.  “Got anything to say?”

Again silence.  Then again a voice, Jarrold’s, saying hurriedly: 

“No.  Benny’s right.  He had it coming.  Damn fool.”

“And you, Brail?  And you, Tony?  Got anything to say?  Talk lively!”

Brail and Tony, like the others before them, were quick to excuse Brodie’s act.  They spoke briefly and relapsed into silence.  Then, beginning far away and coming closer with the speed of an onrushing hurricane, Gloria heard heavy feet crunching in the dirt and gravel.  A hard hand gripped her shoulder, jerking her to her feet.

“You, friend,” said Brodie.  “What have you got to say about it?”

She hung limp in his powerful hand, speechless.

He dragged her closer to the firelight, peering at her with his red-flecked eyes.

“Don’t forget who she is,” another voice was saying.  Steve Jarrold’s.  “Remember what I told you.”

It was as though he prided himself on the fact that he alone knew her for Gaynor’s daughter, and from it derived a sort of ownership of her; for while the others had never caught a glimpse of her until now, he had filled his eyes with her before.  “We got to think this out.  She came along with King.  Got enough of him and switched to Gratton.  That’s like a woman.”

Brodie let her slip down and turned away from her.  His mood was not so soon for a woman.