But he sat down again directly.
“No, no; you don’t think that, sir. May I go on?”
“By all means.”
“Shall I take the cartridges out of the revolver, sir?” said the young man drily, “in case, I make a snatch at it.”
“No, no, no. Go on, sir; go on.”
There was a meaning smile on the young man’s lips as he went on again, and began telling of his last hunting-trip; but the smile soon died out, and he looked stern and relentless as he spoke of the weary tramp they had had, the midday sleep, and their journey afterwards till they were beside the great cañon, where he stepped forward to look about him.
“And then—I suppose it was a sudden temptation—the brute took a step or two forward, came close behind me, and before I could turn, for I felt paralysed with the horror of my position, he raised his rifle as high as he could reach, and struck me a crashing blow upon the back of the head.”
“How do you know if you were looking in another direction?”
“Because the evening sun cast his shadow upon the side of the cañon, where it seemed to me in that momentary flash that one giant was smiting down another. Then I fell headlong down, and for a few moments all was darkness.”
“Go on, sir,” said the old lawyer, who was deeply interested, for his vis-à-vis was talking in a slow, laboured way, as if the recollection of the terrible scene was more than he could bear and choked him with emotion.