Was that only the vitality of him--that awful light in the eyes--only the hard-dying life of a tremendously powerful brute?
A broken whisper, strange as death: "MAN--WHY--DIDN'T--YOU WAIT! BESS--WAS--" And Oldring plunged face forward, dead.
"I killed him," cried Venters, in remembering shock.

"But it wasn't THAT.

Ah, the look in his eyes and his whisper!" Herein lay the secret that had clamored to him through all the tumult and stress of his emotions.

What a look in the eyes of a man shot through the heart! It had been neither hate nor ferocity nor fear of men nor fear of death.

It had been no passionate glinting spirit of a fearless foe, willing shot for shot, life for life, but lacking physical power.