Heat was a way of life to him. He was to a considerable extent inured to it. He left his saddle, rolled once and stood up again, holding one split rein. His horse was surprised but not particularly startled. It stood peering around as Parker drew forth his Winchester. The man who had fired that solitary shot was far out in the shimmering glow. He was riding southward now as though to go cautiously out and around Parker, but when he’d fired, he’d been in the westward roadway. That horseman had not been a mirage after all. Parker turned his horse, keeping the beast in front of him so that the assassin could not at that distance determine whether Parker was shot down or not. He estimated the course of this unknown enemy, gauged the distance before the man would come into Winchester range, then sank down upon the ground to wait. Through that long waiting period Parker speculated upon the assassin’s identity. It seemed a fortuitous thing to him that his foeman had known where to find him, had appeared so soon after he’d left Amy Morgan.
