e, had it crossed the floor. Even the fretful
fire seemed to hold for the time its snappish red tongue, and the wind
without to lean against the door and listen.

The Parson slowly arose from the table. He had his right hand in his
pocket, and was very pale.

Experienced shootists, old hands at mortal combat with their kind,
glanced from man to man, measured every motion, every look, with all the
intense eagerness of artists who are favored with one great and especial
sight, not to be met again. Others held their heads down, and only
waited in a confused sort of manner for the barking of the bull-dogs.

Neither of Sandy's hands were visible; but, as the Parson took a few
steps forward, and partly drew his hand from his pocket, Sandy's right
one came up like a steel spring, and the ugly black muzzle of a
six-shooter was in the Parson's face.

Still he advanced, till his face almost touched the muzzle of the
pistol. He seemed not to see it, or to have the least conception of his
danger.

It was strange that Sandy did not pull. Maybe he was surprised at the
singular action of the Parson. Perhaps he had his eye on the unlifted
right hand of his antagonist. At all events he had the "drop," and could
afford to wait the smallest part of a second, and see what he would do.

"I have been a-wait-ing"--the Parson halted and paused at the
participle. "I have been a-wait-ing for you, Sandy, a long time."

His voice trembled. The voice that had thundered above a hundred
bar-room fights, and had directed the men through many a difficulty in
camp, was now low and uncertain.

"Sandy," he began again, and he took hold of the counter with his left
hand, "I am a-going-a-way. Your cabin will be too small now, and I want
you to promise me to take care of the Parsonage till I come back."

Sandy sank back closer still to the wall, and his arm hung down at his
side.

"You will move into the Parsonage when it is all over. It's full of good
things for Winter. You will take it, I say, at once. Promise me that."

The Parson's voice was a little severe here--more determined than
before; and, as he concluded, he drew the key from his pocket and handed
it to Sandy.

"You will?"

"Yes."

The men looked a moment in each other's eyes. Perhaps they were both
embarrassed. The door was convenient. That seemed to Sandy the best way
out of his confusion, and he opened it softly and disappeared. The
Howling Wilderness was paralyzed with wonde