retains his seat in the saddle; then he flashes a look in the
direction whence the noise proceeds, only to reel back as though to
ward off a blow. He is looking into the muzzle of a heavy "six" with
Arizona's blazing eyes running over the sight.

The silence of the bush remained unbroken as the two men looked into
each other's faces. The gun did not belch forth its death-dealing
pellet. It was simply there, leveled, to enforce its owner's will. Its
compelling presence was a power not easily to be defied in a country
where, in those days, the surest law was carried in the holster on the
hip. The man recovered and submitted. His hands, encased in mitts, had
placed him at a woeful disadvantage.

Arizona saw this and lowered his gun, but his eyes never lost sight of
the fur-clad hands before him. He straightened himself up in the
saddle, refusing to display any of his weakness to this man.

"Guess I've waited fer you, 'Tough' McCulloch, fer nigh on a week," he
said slowly, in a thin, strident voice. "I've coaxed you some too, I
guess. You wus hidden mighty tight, but not jest tight 'nuff. I 'lows
I located you, an' I wa'n't goin' to lose sight o' you. When you quit
Skitter Bend, like the whipped cur you wus, I wus right hot on your
trail. An' I ain't never left it. See? Say, in all the hundreds o'
miles you've traveled sence you quit the creek ther' ain't bin a move
as you've took I ain't looked on at. I've trailed you, headed you, bin
alongside you, an' located wher' you wus makin', an' come along an'
waited on you. Ther's a score 'tween you an' me as wants squarin'. I'm
right here fer to squar' that score."

Arizona's sombre face was unrelieved by any change of expression
while he was speaking. There was no anger in his tone; just cold, calm
purpose, and some contempt. And whatever feelings the half-breed may
have had he seemed incapable of showing them, except in the sickly hue
of his face.

The fascination of the message on the board still seemed to attract
him, for, without heeding the other's words, he glanced over at the
seared tree-trunk and nodded at it.

"See. Dat ting. It your work. Hah?"

"Yes; an' I take it the meanin's clear to you. You've struck the trail
we all stan' on some time, pardner, an' that trail is mostly called
the 'One-Way Trail.' It's a slick, broad trail, an' one as is that
smooth to the foot as you're like to find anywheres. It's so dead easy
you can't help goin' on, an' you on'y larn i