The little gunman seemed to have about his inert presence something that suggested a rattlesnake's inherent knowledge of its destructiveness.

Jean sat down and wiped his clammy face.
"Jean, your dad reckoned to square accounts with Jorth, an' save us all," began Blue, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

"But he reckoned too late.

Mebbe years; ago--or even not long ago--if he'd called Jorth out man to man there'd never been any Jorth-Isbel war.

Gaston Isbel's conscience woke too late.