e 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 then
crumpled down, so that the weight of him fell upon Peter.

For many seconds after that Jolly Roger stood with his gun in his hand,
not a muscle of his body moving, and with something like stupor in
his staring eyes. Peter struggled out from under Cassidy, and looked
inquisitively from his master to the man who lay sprawled out like a
great spider upon the sand. It was then that life seemed to come back
into Jolly Roger's body. His gun fell, as if it was the last thing in
the world to count for anything now, and with a choking cry he ran to
Cassidy and dropped upon his knees beside him.

"Cassidy--Cassidy--" he cried. "Good God, I didn't mean to do it!
Cassidy, old pal--"

The agony in his voice stilled the growl in Peter's throat. McKay saw
nothing for a space, as he raised Cassidy's head and shoulders, and
brushed back the mop