Look around for the pistol or anything else you can find, although _I_ have been over the whole ground twice already." A little puff of dust as the horse sprang into the road, a muffled shuffle, struggle, then the regular beat of hoofs, and she was gone.
After five minutes had passed, Cass regretted that he had not accompanied her: waiting in such a spot was an irksome task.

Not that there was anything in the scene itself to awaken gloomy imaginings; the bright, truthful Californian sunshine scoffed at any illusion of creeping shadows or waving branches.

Once, in the rising wind, the empty hat rolled over--but only in a ludicrous, drunken way.

A search for any further sign or token had proved futile, and Cass grew impatient.

He began to hate himself for having stayed; he would have fled but for shame.