"You didn't really think--?"

"Think hell! I thought so then, and I think so now. She denied it,
but--"

"And you knew her so well, too. I guess you've had some bad nights
yourself, Bennett, with that always on your mind--"

"I swore I'd have you--"

"--and so you put her blood on my head, and made me an outlaw."
After an instant: "Why did you tell me this, anyhow?"

"It's our last talk, and I wanted you to know how well my hate
worked."

"Well, I guess that's all," said Gale. So far they had watched each
other with unwavering, unblinking eyes, straining at the leash and
taut in every nerve. Now, however, the trader's fingers tightened on
the knife-handle, and his knuckles whitened with the grip, at which
Stark's right hand swept to his waist, and simultaneously Gale
lunged across the table. His blade nickered in the light, and a gun
spoke, once--twice--again and again. A cry arose outside the cabin,
then some heavy thing crashed in through the door, bringing light
with it, for with his first leap Gale had carried the lamp and the
table with him, and the two had clenched in the dark,

Burrell had waited an instant too long, for the men's voices had
held so steady, their words had been so vital, that the finish found
him unprepared, but, thrusting the lantern into Poleon's hand, he