s you told it to me.'
Ryder seated himself on a block near the tent entrance, his back half
turned to the others, and neither spoke nor moved throughout the
narration. Stony looked from one to the other, and then commenced his
story. He told it in a monotonous voice, with a dull face and eyes heavy
with drink.
'We were always enemies, Dick Done and I--enemies as boys at school at
Chisley, fighting over everything, picking at each other from morn till
night. As young chaps we remained enemies. It seemed as if God or the
devil had sent us to plague each other. Our enmity grew with us. In
manhood we were as bitter as death. Then the woman came. We both wanted
her. It was just natural of us to get set on the same girl. She liked
him--she didn't care a snap of her fingers for me; but I didn't give up.
I followed her, plagued her, persecuted her, and hated Done worse than
poison. With all my soul I hated him! Of course, we quarrelled over her,
and Done went so far as to talk of killing. He didn't mean it, perhaps,
but it told against him later. One bright night I came on him and her
sitting on Harry's Crag. 'Twasn't an accident. I'd been told they'd gone
down to the sea, and I followed. I interfered, furious at heart, but
making a show of civility, knowing that would madden him. He was soon up
in arms. He tried to drive me off, struck me. I used my stick, and we
fought there and then--fought like madmen on the cliff edge, two hundred
feet above the sea. The girl, frightened almost to death, ran away. Done
got my stick from me, and we fought with our hands. He could beat me at
that game, and at length struck me a blow that stunned me; then he left
me lying there, and went after the girl.'
Stony paused for a moment, and, drawing a bottle from the back of his
bunk, took a long drink. Then his eyes wandered to Ryder again, and he
went on:
'When I came to I was alone. I crept a little further from the edge of
the cliff, and lay down again. I was pretty badly knocked about; my nose
was bleeding freely. Presently, moving my hand, I struck a knife--his
knife! It was closed. I opened it, looking at the long blade. The idea
had already formed in my mind. I smeared the blade with blood, and
dropped the knife, open as it was, over the cliff, being careful that it
should fall on the ledge about twenty feet below. Then I smeared blood
upon the brink, tore a scrap from my coat, and left it there, throwing
the coat with the hat into
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