Edwin Balmer,
The White Bead
(1913)
“ She was flung upon his neck and clung, not to be thrown, so that she did not see who was the rider who passed. She made out only that he was passing the others, striking their horses as he reached them, and driving them in rout down the valley. But the other man stayed behind, for, following the single shot, a volley, a rippling, irregular cracking of rifles, ripped and ripped and ripped sharply, clearly, in the still air, and as she looked back, the horse lay dead, already motionless, in the middle of the trail—a bay horse—Jim's horse—under him his rider. ”
