He seemed to sense the plan of the other, and stopped suddenly, slipping the rope through his fingers.
He swung the coil about his head, measuring the distance, every faculty concentrated on the toss.

He had forgotten Hughes lying in the snow behind; he neither saw nor heard the fellow scramble weakly to his knees, revolver outstretched in a half-frozen hand.

And Hughes, his eyes already glazing in death, saw only the two figures.

In that moment hate triumphed over cowardice; he could not distinguish which was Dupont, which Hamlin.

In the madness of despair he cared little--only he would kill some one before he died.