lders visible, staring straight at
me. His arms were resting on the half-open slide. He made no movement
whatever--simply stood there, staring at me.

I began to tremble. The old stomach sickness clutched me. I put one
hand on the edge of the house to steady myself. My lips seemed suddenly
dry and I moistened them against the need of speech. Nor did I for an
instant take my eyes off him. Neither of us spoke. There was something
ominous in his silence, his immobility. All my old fear of him returned
and by new fear was increased an hundred-fold. And still we stood, the
pair of us, staring at each other.

I was aware of the demand for action, and, my old helplessness strong
upon me, I was waiting for him to take the initiative. Then, as the
moments went by, it came to me that the situation was analogous to the
one in which I had approached the long-maned bull, my intention of
clubbing obscured by fear until it became a desire to make him run. So
it was at last impressed upon me that I was there, not to have Wolf
Larsen take the initiative, but to take it myself.

I cocked both barrels and levelled the shot-gun at him. Had he moved,
attempted to drop down the companion-way, I know I would have shot him.
But he stood motionless and staring as before. And as I faced him, with
levelled gun shaking in my hands, I had time to note the worn and haggard
appearance of his face. It was as if some strong anxiety had wasted it.
The cheeks were sunken, and there was a wearied, puckered expression on
the brow. And it seemed to me that his eyes were strange, not only the
expression, but the physical seeming, as though the optic nerves and
supporting muscles had suffered strain and slightly twisted the eyeballs.

All this I saw, and my brain now working rapidly, I thought a thousand
thoughts; and yet I could not pull the triggers. I lowered the gun and
stepped to the corner of the cabin, primarily to relieve the tension on
my nerves and to make a new start, and incidentally to be closer. Again
I raised the gun. He was almost at arm's length. There was no hope for
him. I was resolved. There was no possible chance of missing him, no
matter how poor my marksmanship. And yet I wrestled with myself and
could not pull the triggers.

"Well?" he demanded impatiently.

I strove vainly to force my fingers down on the triggers, and vainly I
strove to say something.

"Why don't you shoot?" he asked.

I cleared my thro