He had no fear of Bain or of any other man; but a vague fear of himself, of this strange force in him, made him ponder and shake his head.

It was as if he had not all to say in this matter.

There appeared to have been in him a reluctance to let himself go, and some voice, some spirit from a distance, something he was not accountable for, had compelled him.
That hour of Duane's life was like years of actual living, and in it he became a thoughtful man.
He went into the house and buckled on his belt and gun.

The gun was a Colt.45, six-shot, and heavy, with an ivory handle.

He had packed it, on and off, for five years.