He found the sheriff
crouching behind a rock scarce two hundred yards from the scene
of the murder. At the same moment another shot echoed from well
over to the left.
"Who can that be?" Neil asked, very much puzzled.
"That's what's worrying me, York," the sheriff returned.
Together they zigzagged up the side of the mountain. Twice from
above there came sounds of rifle shots. Neil was the first to
strike the trail to the mine. None too soon for as he stepped
upon it, breathing heavily from his climb, Reilly swung round a
curve and whipped his weapon to his shoulder. The man fired
before York could interfere and stood watching tensely the result
of his shot. He was silhouetted against the skyline, a beautiful
mark, but Neil did not cover him. Instead, he spoke quietly to
the other.
"Was it you that killed Phil, Reilly?"
The man whirled and saw Neil for the first time. His answer was
instant. Flinging up his rifle, he pumped a shot at York.
Neil's retort came in a flash. Reilly clutched at his heart and
toppled backward from the precipice upon which he stood. Collins
joined the cowpuncher and together they stepped forward to the
point from which Reilly had plunged down two hundred feet to the
jagged rocks below.
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