ts cussedness when you
kind o' notion gittin' back. I 'lows as one o' them glacier things on
top o' yonder mountains is li'ble to be easier climbin' nor turnin'
back on that trail. The bed o' that trail is blood, blood that's
mostly shed in crime, an' its surface is dusted wi' all manner o'
wrong doin's sech as you an' me's bin up to. Say, it ain't a long
trail, I'm guessin', neither. It's dead short, in fac' the end comes
sudden-like, an' vi'lent. But I 'lows the end ain't allus jest the
same. Sometimes y'll find a rope hangin' in the air. Sometimes ther's
a knife jabbin' around; sometimes ther's a gun wi' a light pull
waitin' handy, same as mine. But I figger all them things mean jest
'bout the same. It's death, pardner; an' it ain't easy neither. Say,
you an' me's pretty nigh that end. You 'special. Guess you're goin' to
pass over fust. Mebbe I'll pass over when I'm ready. It ain't jest
ne'sary fer the likes o' us to yarn Gospel wi' one another, but I'm
goin' to tell you somethin' as mebbe you're worritin' over jest 'bout
now. It's 'bout a feller's gal--his wife--which the same that feller
never did you no harm. But fust y'll put up them mitts o' yours, I
sees as they're gettin' oneasy, worritin' around as though they'd a
notion to git a grip on suthin'."

The half-breed made no attempt to obey, but stared coldly into the
lean face before him.

"Hands up!" roared Arizona, with such a dreadful change of tone that
the man's hands were thrust above his head as though a shot had struck
him.

Arizona moved over to him and removed a heavy pistol from the man's
coat pocket, and then, having satisfied himself that he had no other
weapons concealed about him, dropped back to his original position.

"Ah, I wus jest sayin', 'bout that feller's wife," he went on quietly.
"Say, you acted the skunk t'ward that feller. An' that feller wus me.
I don't say I wus jest a daisy husband fer that gal, but that wa'n't
your consarn. Wot's troublin' wus your monkeyin' around, waitin' so
he's out o' the way an' then vamoosin' wi' the wench an' all. Guess
I'm goin' to kill you fer that sure. But ther' ain't none o' the skunk
to me. I'm goin' to treat you as you wouldn't treat me ef I wus
settin' wher' you are, which I ain't. You're goin' to hit the One-Way
Trail. But you ken hit it like what you ain't, an' that's a man."

Arizona's calm, judicial tone goaded his hearer. But "Tough"
McCulloch was not the man to shout. His was a deadlier c