Black Pawl shook his head. “I’m near gone, Dan. Let me rest till the end.” And then his eyes, looking over Dan’s head, lighted proudly. The missionary, roused by the shot as Dan had been, was coming now. Black Pawl smiled at him.
“Eh, Father!” he said wearily. “There was an atonement! The bitter cup! And—I’ve drunk deep, Father. I’ve killed my son.”
The old missionary had the gift of understanding; and a part of what had passed, he understood. But—he looked to Dan Darrin with a question in his eyes, and Dan said swiftly:
“Spiess knifed the Captain. And he knew it was Red Pawl’s doing; so he shot the mate.”
Black Pawl shook his head. “No, Father. Not because my death was his doing. Not for that I killed him. You will—understand.”
“Yes, Black Pawl,” said the missionary. “Yes, I understand.”
“I loved him, Father.”
“I know.”
“I’d no anger because he killed—me. That was due me. I’d no anger for that.”
“I know,” said the man of the church again.