"What do you mean?"
"Jest this: I might take a fancy ter shoot fust an' talk it over arterward. I don't want ter shoot yer."
A strange, sad smile came to the man's face.
"You need not fear," he said. "If you were to shoot at me, you would not hit me."
The guide gave a snort.
"Whut's thet?" he cried. "I allow you hain't seen me shoot any to speak of, pard. I ain't in ther habit of missin'."
"That makes no difference. A man who seeks death cannot die. Fate would turn your bullet aside."
"Wa-al, I don't allow thet I wants ter try it, fer Fate might not be quick enough. Jest you keep away, 'less you hollers out ter let us know when ye're comin'."
As the hermit turned away he happened to glance into the tent, the front of which was still open. The firelight shone in and fell on the face of the tired child, who was sleeping sweetly.
The man paused, staring at the face revealed by the flickering light. His hand was lifted to his head, and he swayed unsteadily on his feet, his face marked by a look of astonishment and pain.