She gazed down upon it with straining, hopeless eyes. It was as if she were struggling to nerve herself for that one last act of cowardice which the despairing find so hard to resist. Then, with a deep-drawn sigh, she raised the weapon with its muzzle ominously pointing at her bosom.
Again came a pause.
Then she closed her eyes, as though fearing to witness the passing of the daylight from her life, and her forefinger moved to embrace the trigger. It reached its object, and its pressure tightened.
But as it tightened, and the trigger even moved, she felt the warm grip of a hand close over hers, and the pistol was turned from its direction with a wrench.
Her startled eyes abruptly opened, and her grip upon the weapon relaxed, while a cry broke from her ashen lips. She had left the gun in Buck's hand, and his dark eyes were gazing into hers from his bed amongst the crushed branches of the bush amidst which he was lying.
For long moments she stared at him almost without understanding. Then, slowly, the color returned to her cheeks and lips, and great tears of joy welled up into her loving eyes.
"Buck," she murmured, as the heavy tears slowly rolled down her cheeks, and her bosom heaved with unspeakable joy. "My--my Buck."
For answer the man's eyes smiled. Her heaven had opened at last.