. And then, with something like a deep sigh from between his
lips, Jolly Roger's body sagged. The dunnage dropped from his shoulder
to the sand. The paddle slipped from his hand. Slowly he raised his
arms above his head, and Cassidy laughed softly.

A few days ago McKay would have grinned back, coolly, good humoredly,
appreciative of the other's craftsmanship even in the hour of his
defeat. But today there was another soul within him.

His eyes no longer saw the old Cassidy, brave and loyal to his duty, a
chivalrous enemy, the man he had yearned to love as brother loves
brother, even in the hours of sharpest pursuit. In Cassidy he saw now
the hangman himself. The whole world had turned against him, and in
this hour of his greatest despair and hopelessness a bitter fate had
turned up Cassidy to deal him the finishing blow.

A swift rage burned in him, even as he raised his hands. It swept
through his brain in a blinding inundation. He did not think of the
law, or of death, or of freedom. It was the unfairness of the thing
that filled his soul with the blackness of one last terrible desire for
vengeance. Cassidy's gun, leveled at his breast, meant nothing. A
thousand guns leveled at his breast would have meant nothing. A choking
sound came from his lips, and like a shot his right hand went to his
revolver holster.

In that last second or two Cassidy had foreseen the impending thing,
and with the movement of the other's hand he cried out:

"Stop! For God's sake stop--or I shall fire!"

Even into the soul of Peter there came in that moment the electrical
thrill of something terrific about to happen, of impending death, of
tragedy close at hand. Once, a long time ago, Peter had felt another
moment such as this--when he had buried his fangs in Jed Hawkins' leg
to save Nada.

In that fraction of a second which carried Peter through space,
Corporal Cassidy's finger was pressing the trigger of his automatic,
for McKay's gun was half out of its holster. He was aiming at the
other's shoulder, somewhere not to kill.

The shock of Peter's assault came simultaneously with the explosion of
his gun, and McKay heard the hissing spit of the bullet past his ear.
His arm darted out. And as Peter buried his teeth deeper into Cassidy's
leg, he heard a second shot, and knew that it came from his master.
There was no third. Cassidy drooped, and something like a little laugh
came from him--only it was not a laugh. His body sagged, and