It moved reluctantly and searched out the heart of Wingenund, where it lingered for a fleeting instant.

At last it rested upon the swarthy face of Miller.
"Fer Betty," muttered the hunter, between his clenched teeth as he pressed the trigger.
The spiteful report awoke a thousand echoes.

When the shot broke the stillness Miller was talking and gesticulating.

His hand dropped inertly; he stood upright for a second, his head slowly bowing and his body swaying perceptibly.

Then he plunged forward like a log, his face striking the sand.