It was in the blood of John Aldous to kill Quade.

He ran with the quickness of a hare around the end of the cabin, past the window, and then stopped to listen, his automatic in his hand, his eye piercing the gloom for some moving shadow.

He had not counted on an instant's hesitation.

He would shoot Quade, for he knew why the mottled beast had been at the window.
Stevens' boy had been right.

Quade was after Joanne.