Calumet saw a pistol glitter in his hand, heard his voice, a little hoarse, possibly from fear, give the faltering command: "Hands up!" Until now, Calumet had been filled with a savage enjoyment of the possibilities.

He had counted on making his presence known at this juncture, anticipating much pleasure in the revelation of his father's surprise when he should discover that the intruder was his hated son.
But in his eagerness to conceal the fire from the cigarette he burned the palm of the hand holding it.

Instantly he succumbed to a furious rage.

With a snarl he flung himself forward, grasping the man's pistol with his left hand and depressing the muzzle, at just the instant that it was discharged.
Calumet felt the sting of the powder in his face, and in a fury of resentment he brought his right hand up and clutched his father's throat.

He had taken much pride in his ability to control his passions, but at this moment they were unleashed.