owly and heavily back
into the chair.

"There is a way--have you never thought of it? When you threatened others
as you did me, and life seemed such a little thing in others--can't you
think?"

Bewildered, the man looked around helplessly. In the silence which
followed Foyle's words his brain was struggling to see a way out. Foyle's
further words seemed to come from a great distance.

"It's not too late to do the decent thing. You'll never repent of all
you've done; you'll never do different."

The old, reckless, irresponsible spirit revived in the man; he had both
courage and bravado; he was not hopeless yet of finding an escape from the
net. He would not beg, he would struggle.

"I've lived as I meant to, and I'm not going to snivel or repent now. It's
all a rotten business, anyhow," he rejoined.

With a sudden resolution the ex-sergeant put his own pistol in his pocket,
then pushed Halbeck's pistol over toward him on the table. Halbeck's eyes
lighted eagerly, grew red with excitement, then a change passed over them.
They now settled on the pistol, and stayed.

He heard Foyle's voice. "It's with you to do what you ought to do. Of
course you can kill me. My pistol's in my pocket. But I don't think you
will. You've murdered one man. You won't load your soul up with another.
Besides, if you kill me, you will never get away from Kowatin alive. But
it's with you--take your choice. It's me or you."

Halbeck's fingers crept out and found the pistol.

"Do your duty, Dorl," said the ex-sergeant, as he turned his back on his
brother.

The door of the room opened, and Goatry stepped inside softly. He had work
to do, if need be, and his face showed it. Halbeck did not see him.

There was a demon in Halbeck's eyes, as his brother stood, his back
turned, taking his chances. A large mirror hung on the wall opposite
Halbeck. Goatry was watching Halbeck's face in the glass, and saw the
danger. He measured his distance.

All at once Halbeck caught Goatry's face in the mirror. The dark devilry
faded out of his eyes. His lips moved in a whispered oath. Every way was
blocked.

With a sudden wild resolution he raised the pistol to his head. It
cracked, and he fell back heavily in the chair. There was a red trickle at
the temple.

He had chosen the best way out.

"He had the pluck," said Goatry, as Foyle swung round with a face of
misery.

A moment afterward came a rush of people. Goatry kept them back.

"Sergeant Foy