Stark had carefully weighed the effect of this upon Necia, and had
reasoned that a girl like her could not understand a soldier's duty
if it meant the blood of a parent. If he refused to act, the gambler
could break him, while every effort he made to protect Gale would
but increase the other's satisfaction. There was no chance of the
trader's escape. Stark held him in his hand. His followers would do
his bidding. It was a desperate affair. Was it impossible, the
Lieutenant wondered, to move this man from his purpose?

"Have you thought of Necia? She loves Gale. What effect will this
have on her?"

"Damn her! She's more his brat than mine. I want John Gaylord!"

At this a vicious frenzy overtook Burrell, and he thought of the man
behind yonder door, whom he had forgotten until these words woke
something savage in him. Well! Why not? These two men had stalked
each other clear into the farthest places, driven by forces that
were older than the hills. Who was he to stand between such
passions? This was ordained, it was the course of nature, the clash
of elements, and this was a fair battle-ground, so why should he
undertake to stop a thing decreed?

The gambler's words rang in his ears--"I want John Gaylord"--and
before he knew what he was doing he had answered: "Very well. I'll
give him to you," and crossed quickly to the door of his bedroom and
flung it open. On the threshold he paused stock-still. The place was
empty; a draught sucked through the open window, flirting with the
curtain and telling the story of the trader's exit.