I've feared you, McGurk!" He said it with a deep astonishment, as a grown man will speak of the way he feared darkness when he was a child.

McGurk moistened his white lips.

The white horse pawed the rocks as though impatient to be gone.
"Listen," said Pierre, "your horse grows restive.

Suppose we stand here--it's a convenient distance apart--and wait with our arms folded for the next time the white horse paws the rocks, because when I kill you, McGurk, I want you to die knowing that another man was faster on the draw and straighter with his bullets than you are.

D'you see ?" He could not have spoken with a more formal politeness if he had been asking the other to pass first through the door of a dining-room.