Burrell did not follow up this statement, for its truth was
incontrovertible, and showed that the father's ill-will was too
tangible a thing to be concealed; so he continued:

"We'll adjust that after Gale is attended to; but, meanwhile, what
do you want me to do?"

"I want you to arrest the man who killed my wife. If you don't take
him the miners will. I've got a following in this camp, and I'll
raise a crowd in fifteen minutes--enough to hang this squaw-man, or
batter down your barracks to get him. But I don't want to do that; I
want to go by the law you've talked so much about; I want you to do
the trick."

At last Burrell saw the gambler's deviltry. He knew Stark's
reputation too well to think that he feared a meeting with Gale, for
the man had lived in hope of that these fifteen years, and had
shaped his life around such a meeting; but this indirect method--the
Kentuckian felt a flash of reluctant admiration for a man who could
mould a vengeance with such cruel hands, and, even though he came
from a land of feuds, where hate is a precious thing, the cunning
strength of this man's enmity dwarfed any he had ever known. Stark
had planned his settlement coldly and with deliberate malice;
moreover he was strong enough to stand aside and let another take
his place, and thus deny to Gale the final recourse of a hunted
beast, the desperate satisfaction that the trader craved. He tied
his enemy's hands and delivered him up with his thirst unsatisfied--
to whom? He thrust a weapon into the hand of his other enemy, and
bade this other enemy use it; worse than that, forced him to strike
the man he honored--the man he loved. Burrell never doubted that