. But now my hand was on his throat, my knee was planted on
his chest, and by one twist I could end a record whose further writing
would be in the blood of his victims.

I lifted my eyes an instant to the western sky, out of which a clear,
sweet air was softly fanning my hot blood-smeared face. The sun had set
as O'mie cut my bonds. And now the long purple twilight of the Southwest
held the land in its soft hues. Only one ray of iridescent light
pointed the arch above me--the sun's good-night greeting to the Plains.
Its glory held me by a strange power. God's mercy was in that radiant
shaft of beauty reaching far up the sky, keeping me back from wilful
murder.

And then, because all pure, true human love is typical of God's eternal
love for his children, then, all suddenly, the twilight scene slipped
from me. I was in my father's office on an August day, and Marjie was
beside me. The love light in her dear brown eyes, as they looked
steadily into mine, was thrilling my soul with joy. I felt again the
touch of her hand as I felt it that day when I presented her to Rachel
Melrose. Her eyes were looking deep into my soul, her hand was in my
hand, the hand that in a moment more would take the life of a human
being no longer able to give me blow for blow. I loosed my clutch as
from a leprous wound, and the Indian gasped again for mercy. Standing
upright, I spurned the form grovelling now at my feet.

Lifting my bloody right hand high above me, I thanked God I had
conquered in a greater battle. I had won the victory over my worser
self.

But I was too wise to think that Jean should have his freedom. Stepping
to where the cut thongs that had bound me lay, I took the longest pieces
and tied the half-breed securely.

All this time I had fogotten O'mie. Now it dawned upon me that he must
be found. He might be alive still. The fall must have been broken
somehow by the bushes. I peered over the edge of the bluff into the
darkness of the valley below.

"O'mie!" I called, "O'mie!"

"Present!" a voice behind me responded.

I turned quickly. Standing there in the dim light, with torn clothing,
and tumbled red hair, and scratched face was the Irish boy, bruised, but
not seriously hurt.

"I climbed down and round and up and got back as soon as I come too," he
said, with that happy-go-lucky smile of his. "Bedad! but you've been
makin' some history, I see. Git up, you miserable cur, and we'll march
ye down to General Custer. Yo