His mind was weary and tense, irritable from two sleepless nights and from futile decisions, and he inherited a tendency to black and sudden rage.

It was true he had walked through life with a black dog at his heels.

Sometimes he turned, closed with, throttled, and flung off his pursuer; sometimes he left him far behind; more than once he had seen him mastered and done with, dead by the wayside, had drawn free breath, and had gone on with a victor's brow.

Then, when all the fields were smiling, came at a bound the dark shape, leaped at the throat, and hung there.

It was so this evening at Lynch's.