It came home across the ugly face of him, and then I flung it down and grabbed the carbine as he swung the black around with one hand fumbling in his jacket.

It came out empty, an' we sat there a moment, the two of us, Courthorne white as death, his eyes like burning coals, and the fingers of me trembling on the carbine.

Sorrow on the man that he hadn't a pistol or I'd have sent the black soul of him to the divil it came from." The lad panted, and Payne, who had guessed at his hopeless devotion to the girl who had listened to Courthorne, made a gesture of disapproval that was tempered by sympathy.

It was for her sake, he fancied, Shannon had left the Ontario clearing and followed Larry Blake to the West.
"I'm glad he hadn't, Pat," said Payne.

"What was the end of it ?" "I remembered," said the other with a groan, "remembered I was Trooper Shannon, an' dropped the carbine into the wagon.