A

A man could make a mark there.

A bold line of violet broke loose from the high ridge of the mountains, followed by feathers of red that swept the last stars from the sky.

A bayonet hung in a belt scabbard.

A voice spoke near-at-hand.

A man was standing in the open door of the lighted orderly room a few yards to Mike's left, but he, too, suddenly made up his mind and went racing to join the confused activity at the east end of the stockade.

A lantern hung from a peg, giving light.

A brace of pistols, holstered on belts, hung from a peg, along with ammunition pouches.

A bullet tore the earth from beneath his foot when he was a stride or two from safety.

A sizable supply of powder had been touched off.

A horse screamed as it twisted from side to side in a frenzy.

A rifle cracked ; ;

A second leaped from his horse to the top of the bale, firing four arrows in such rapid succession it didn't seem possible they were in flight.

A small Indian dived at Montero, who caught him with a swift upward stroke of his rifle butt.

A warm breeze played across it, moving it like waves.

A red-tailed hawk flew in behind them and stayed there, watching for any snakes or rabbits that they might stir up from the side of the road.

A glimpse of three of four vague figures, at the most.

A good man, Emmett.

A company of cavalry couldn't come in there if two men were guarding that trail ''.

A million dollars' of gold a month.

A million tons of rock and soil and brush.

A few days ago, she would have thought such an expedition as this utterly ridiculous ; ;

A terrible chill swept through the grove.

A wildcatter had to be prepared for almost any emergency.

A rabbit punch redoubled him.

`` A year, Luis??