We will lay a trap." "No, by God!" Gale interrupted her hotly.

"I tried that kind of work, and it won't do.

I'm no murderer." "Those are only words," said the woman, quietly.

"To kill your enemy is the law." The only light in the room came from the stove, a great iron cylinder made from a coal-oil tank that lay on a rectangular bed of sand held inside of four timbers, with a door in one end to take whole lengths of cord-wood, and which, being open, lit the space in front, throwing the sides and corners of the place into blacker mystery.
When he made no answer the squaw slipped out into the shadows, leaving him staring into the flames, to return a moment later bearing something in her hands, which she placed in his.

It was a knife in a scabbard, old and worn.
"There is no magic that can turn bright steel," she said, then squatted again in the dimness outside of the firelight.