"But then--you see how well it has
turned out? Terry has taken the acid test, and now you can trust him
under any--"
The words were literally blown off ragged at his lips. Two revolver shots
exploded at them. No one gun could have fired them. And there was a
terrible significance in the angry speed with which one had followed the
other, blending, so that the echo from the lofty side of Sleep Mountain
was but a single booming sound. In that clear air it was impossible to
tell the direction of the noise.
Everyone in the room seemed to listen stupidly for a repetition of the
noises. But there was no repetition.
"Vance," whispered Elizabeth in such a tone that the coward dared not
look into her face. "It's happened!"
"What?" He knew, but he wanted the joy of hearing it from her own lips.
"It has happened," she whispered in the same ghostly voice. "But which
one?"
That was it. Who had fallen--Terry, or the sheriff? A long, heavy step
crossed the little porch. Either man might walk like that.
The door was flung open. Terence Hollis stood before them.
"I think that I've killed the sheriff," he said simply.
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