omposition
such as the open American hated and despised, and hardly understood.
He contented himself with a cynical remark which fired the other's
volcanic temper so that he could scarcely hold his hand.

"Me good to her," he said, with a shrug.

"You wus good to her, wus you? You who knew her man wus livin'! You,
as mebbe has ha'f a dozen wives livin'. You wus good to her! Wal,
you're goin' to pay now. Savee? You're goin' to pay fer your flutter
wi' chips, chips as drip wi' blood--your blood."

The half-breed shrugged again. He was outwardly unconcerned, but
inwardly he was cursing the luck that he had been wearing mitts upon
his hands when he entered the bluff. He watched Arizona as he climbed
out of his saddle. He beheld the signs of weakness which the other
could no longer disguise, but they meant nothing to him, at least,
nothing that could serve him. He knew he must wait the cowpuncher's
pleasure; and why? The ring of white metal which marks the muzzle of a
gun has the power to hold brave man and coward alike. He dared not
move, and he was wise enough not to attempt it.

Arizona drove his horse off into the bush, and stepped over to his
prisoner, who still remained mounted, halting abreast of the man's
stirrup and a few yards to one side of it. His features now wore the
shadow of a grim smile as he paused and looked into the face which
displayed so much assumed unconcern.

"See this gun," he said, drawing attention to the one he held in his
right hand; "it's a forty-fi', an' I'm guessin' it's loaded in two
chambers." Then he scraped the snow off a small patch of the road with
his foot. "That gun I lay right here," he went on, stooping to deposit
it, but still keeping his eyes fixed upon the horseman. "Then I step
back, so," moving backward with long regular strides, "an' I reckon I
count fifteen paces. Then I clear another space," he added grimly,
like some fiendish conjurer describing the process of his tricks, "and
stand ready. Now, 'Tough' McCulloch, or Anton, or wotever you notion
best, skunk as you are, you're goin' to die decent. You're goin' to
die as a gentleman in a square fought duel. You're goin' to die in a
slap-up way as is a sight too good fer you, but don't go fer to make
no mistake--you're goin' to die. Yes, you're goin' to get off'n that
plug o' yours an' stand on that patch, an' I'm goin' to count three,
nice an' steady, one-two-three! Just so. An' then we're goin' to grab
up them guns an'