"I can see myself doing it," said Fletcher Hill.
"Yes, you will do it." A sudden deep note of savagery sounded in Warden's voice. "Not to save your own skin, Mr. Fletcher Hill, but for the sake of—something more valuable than that—something more precious even than your cussed pride. You'll do it for the sake of the girl you're going to marry. And you'll do it—now."
"Shall I?" said Fletcher Hill.
Bill Warden's hand suddenly came forth and gripped him by the shoulder. "Damn you!" he said. "Do you think I want to save your life?"
The words were low, spoken with a concentrated passion more terrible than open violence. He looked closely into Hill's eyes, and his own were flaming like the eyes of a baited animal.
Hill looked straight back at him without the stirring of an eyelid. "Take your hand off me!" he said.
It was the word of the superior officer. Warden's hand fell as it were mechanically. There followed a tense silence.
Warden made a sharp movement. "I did it to save your life," he said. "You'd have died like a dog within ten seconds if I hadn't turned you back."
A curious expression crossed Hill's strong countenance. It was almost a smile of understanding. "I am—indebted to you—boss," he said, and with the words very calmly he took his revolver by the muzzle and held it out. "I surrender to you—without conditions."
Bill Warden gave a sharp start of surprise. For an instant he hesitated, then in silence he took the weapon and dropped it into his pocket. A moment longer he looked Fletcher Hill straight in the eyes, then swung upon his heel.