t night
clean home from the party--an' I had a knife. I jest couldn't help it.
Every time I know nex' time it'll happen. I don't ask ye to give her
up, Bud, but to settle it with me now, fair an' open, 'fore I do
something I can't help."

He strode swiftly to and fro across the room as he spoke, his
skin-shod feet tapping muffled upon the bare floor, like the pads of
an animal. The fur of his leggings, rubbing together as he walked,
generated static sparks which snapped audibly. He halted presently by
the fireplace, and looked down at the man lying there.

"It's 'tween us, Bud," he said, passion quivering in his voice.

Minutes passed before Bud Ellis spoke, then he shifted his head,
quickly, and for the first time squarely met Clayton's eyes.

"You say it's between you and me," he initiated slowly: "how do you
propose to settle it?"

The other man hesitated, then his face grew red.

"Ye make it hard for me, Bud, 's though I was a boy talkin' to ye big
here; but it's true, as I told ye: I ain't myself when I see ye
settin' close to 'Liz'beth, er dancin' with your arm touchin' hern. I
ain't no coward, Bud; an' I can't give her up--to you ner nobody
else.

"I hate it. We've always been like brothers afore, an' it 'pears
kinder dreamy 'n foolish 'n unnatural us settin' here talkin' 'bout
it; but there ain't no other way I can see. I give ye yer choice, Bud:
I'll fight ye fair any way y' want."

Ellis's attitude remained unchanged: one big hand supported his chin
while he gazed silently into the fire. Clayton stood contemplating him
a moment, then sat down.

By and by Ellis's head moved a little, a very little, and their eyes
again met. A minute passed, and in those seconds the civilization of
each man moved back generations.

The strain was beyond Clayton; he bounded to his feet with a motion
that sent the stool spinning.

"God A'mighty! Are y' wood er are y' a coward? Y' seem to think I'm
practisin' speech-makin'. D'ye know what it means fer me to come up
here like this to you?" He waited, but there was no response.

"I tell ye fer the last time, I love that girl, an' if it warn't fer
you--fer you, Bud Ellis--she'd marry me. Can ye understand that? Now
will ye fight?--or won't ye?"

A movement, swift and easy, like a released spring, the unconscious
trick of a born athlete, and Ellis was upon his feet. Involuntarily,
Clayton squared himself, as if an attack were imminent.

"No, I won't fight you," said