ove he might have known. This was what he had
to give up--all this wonder of her sweet person, this strange fire he
feared yet loved, this mate his deep and tortured soul recognized. Never
until that moment had he divined the meaning of a woman to a man. That
meaning was physical inasmuch that he learned what beauty was, what
marvel in the touch of quickening flesh; and it was spiritual in that he
saw there might have been for him, under happier circumstances, a life
of noble deeds lived for such a woman.

"Don't go! Don't go!" she cried, as he started violently.

"I must. Dear, good-by! Remember I loved you."

He pulled her hands loose from his, stepped back.

"Ray, dearest--I believe--I'll come back!" he whispered.

These last words were falsehood.

He reached the door, gave her one last piercing glance, to fix for ever
in memory that white face with its dark, staring, tragic eyes.

"DUANE!"

He fled with that moan like thunder, death, hell in his ears.

To forget her, to get back his nerve, he forced into mind the image of
Poggin-Poggin, the tawny-haired, the yellow-eyed, like a jaguar,
with his rippling muscles. He brought back his sense of the outlaw's
wonderful presence, his own unaccountable fear and hate. Yes, Poggin had
sent the cold sickness of fear to his marrow. Why, since he hated
life so? Poggin was his supreme test. And this abnormal and stupendous
instinct, now deep as the very foundation of his life, demanded its wild
and fatal issue. There was a horrible thrill in his sudden remembrance
that Poggin likewise had been taunted in fear of him.

So the dark tide overwhelmed Duane, and when he left the room he was
fierce, implacable, steeled to any outcome, quick like a panther, somber
as death, in the thrall of his strange passion.

There was no excitement in the street. He crossed to the bank corner. A
clock inside pointed the hour of two. He went through the door into the
vestibule, looked around, passed up the steps into the bank. The clerks
were at their desks, apparently busy. But they showed nervousness. The
cashier paled at sight of Duane. There were men--the rangers--crouching
down behind the low partition. All the windows had been removed from the
iron grating before the desks. The safe was closed. There was no money
in sight. A customer came in, spoke to the cashier, and was told to come
to-morrow.

Duane returned to the door. He could see far down the street, out into
the country. T