Suddenly the devil that had possessed him released the miner. Elliott's love for man passed his love for woman. He forgot Martie as he faced Sanderson. His courage came back to him and his clearness of vision.
He dropped his rifle, and before any one could stop him, although Sanderson screamed, "For God's sake, Jack, don't do it!" and the men surged toward him, he whipped out his pistol, pointed it at his own breast, pulled the trigger, and fell bleeding from a mortal wound through the right lung.
"Men," he gasped out brokenly, "you're right—I was going to kill—him—on account of—Martie, you know, but—but he trusted me and—I could—not. Yet I'm a murderer—in the—sight of God—and my punishment—is—this. Dick—don't tell Martie."
There was a look of peace on his face as they gathered around him. They drew back a little as Dick Sanderson knelt down and took him in his arms.
"Jack, Jack!" he sobbed, "I knew your temptation, but I knew you wouldn't shoot me, old man. You were braver than I. I don't know what would have happened if the coin had flipped my way. Oh, Jack, I wish to God you had killed me!"
"Now—I'm—forgiven," whispered Elliott, feebly, lifting his hand toward the other, and then he smiled, and then it was all over.
"Gentlemen," said Sanderson, crying like a baby, as he rose to his feet, "he died for me."
"And for Martie," added Casey.
"Yes, and for Martie."
"Stranger," said Big Sam, turning to the man who had made the wager, "the money is yourn. I wish to God we'd never bet!"