ting that the said Curt Dawson made said or any
attempt upon the lives of my party, I have been guilty of an
unpardonable injustice, which I deeply deplore and for which I feel
sincere chagrin." As I read that passage I laughed with an amusement
that was not feigned, and then I tore the paper into fragments which I
scattered among the ashes.

Dawson watched me and shrugged his shoulders.

"We don't hardly like ter kill furriners--" he said. "Them folks down
below misunderstands hit an' raises hell--but I reckon ef they won't
take nuthin' but killin' they kin git kilt."

So they had planned not only to keep me out of court, but to present my
affidavit when it became convenient: an affidavit purporting to have
been made by me across the Virginia line, while I was abjectly fleeing.
Weighborne and maybe his wife as well, whom I had already grossly
insulted, would hear the reading of my Iscariot betrayal. If it were
possible for them to think more contemptuously of me than they already
did, this would be the precise climax to bring about such a result.

Most of that day I spent below stairs. In the afternoon Bud left the
cabin and shortly after returned in great excitement.

"Git that damned feller upstairs quick," he cautioned. "A couple of them
Marcus men is stragglin' round here, an' they mout come in."

Dawson leaped from his chair as though electrified, and his face showed
a passion of anxiety. He sprang toward me and seizing my shoulder
pivoted me, pointing to the stairs.

"Hustle," he shouted as he pushed me toward the door. "Git movin'."
Naturally I did not obey. I scented the possibility of rescue, so I
laughed at him and stolidly stood my ground.

"This place suits me," I said.

With the swiftest demonstration of the art of weapon-drawing I have ever
seen he brought his magazine pistol from its holster and thrust it into
my chest. His chin shot belligerently out and his eyes narrowed into
blazing slits. His profanity came in a wild torrent.

My attitude was still indifference as to whether or not I were killed.
New developments had come fast since I turned from the door of the room
where Weighborne's wife still sat before the fire with my stolen kisses
fresh upon her lips and temples, but there had not been a moment of
forgetfulness. I saw nothing ahead of me worth surrendering for, and now
I felt that parlous as the situation was, it was Dawson rather than I
who was frightened.

"Why don't you shoot?"