It was the face of a man whose soul is seared with
the blasting fury of a hell from the sight of which he is powerless to
withdraw his terrified gaze. He knew nothing but the agony which smote
through his every sense. The world about him, the place, even the
hideous swaying remains of a once joyous life that confronted him. He
was blind, blind to it all, crushed beneath a burden of agony which
left him stupefied. His twin brother Ronald was there before him, a
dreadful, dead thing, hanged for a--cattle thief.
* * * * * *
Bud gazed from the dead to the living. His deep eyes were full of an
understanding which required no words. There was that about the dead,
distorted face which was unmistakable. One look into the dreadful eyes
of the living had told him all he needed.
He, too, stood silently contemplating the swaying figure. But it was
only for a moment. Then he moved swiftly, actively. As he moved he
drew a sheath knife from his belt.
He reached up. The steel of the knife gleamed.
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