lat and inane.

Then Stark spoke intelligibly for the first time.

"Arrest him! You've got to believe what I told you now, Burrell." He
poured forth a stream of unspeakable profanity, smitten by the bitter
knowledge of his first and only defeat. "You'll hang, Gaylord! I'll see
your neck stretched, damn your heart!" To Poleon he panted, excitedly:
"I followed him for fifteen years, Doret. He killed my wife."

"Dat's damn lie!" said the Frenchman.

"No, it isn't. He's under indictment for it back in California. He shot
her down in cold blood, then ran off with my kid. That's her he calls
Necia. She's mine. Ain't I right, Lieutenant?"

At this final desperate effort to fix the crime upon his rival, Burrell
turned on him with loathing.

"It's no use, Stark. We heard you say she killed herself. We were
standing outside the door, both of us, and got it from your own lips."

Until this moment the man had stood on his own feet, but now he began
to sag, seeing which, Poleon supported him to the bed, where he sank
weakly, collapsing in every joint and muscle.

"It's a job," he snarled. "You put this up, you three, and came here to
gang me." An unnatural shudder convulsed him as his wounds bit at him,
and then he flared up viciously. "But I'll beat you all. I've got the
girl! I've got her!"

"Necia!" cried Burrell, suddenly remembering, for this affray had
driven all else from his mind.

Stark crouched on the edge of his bunk--a ghastly, gray, grinning
thing! One weapon still remained to him, and he used it.

"Yes, I've got my daughter!"

"Where is she?" demanded the trader, hoarsely. "Where's my girl?"

The gambler chuckled; an agony seized him till he hiccoughed and
strangled; then, as the spell passed, he laughed again.

"She's got you in her head, like the mother had, but I'll drive it out;
I'll treat her like I did her--"

Gale uttered a terrible cry and moved upon him, but Burrell shouldered
the trader aside, himself possessed by a cold fury that intensified his
strength tenfold.

"Stop it, Gale! Let me attend to this. I'll make him tell!"

"Oh, will you?" mocked the girl's father.

"Where is she?"

"None of your damned business." Again he was seized with a paroxysm
that left him shivering and his lips colorless. The blankets were
soaked and soggy with blood, and his feet rested in a red pool.

"Ben Stark," said the tortured lover, "you're a sick man, and you'll be
gone in half an hour at this rate.