The fire rose and fell with merry crackle—for Trist had drawn the coals together noiselessly before leaving the room—and in the semi-darkness a strange unsteady form moved to and fro.
'I know him,' mumbled the horrible voice, 'and ... I'm going to shoot him.'
There was a slight sound as if a drawer were being searched in a table or piece of furniture which was not quite firm upon its base, and a moment later the door was opened without noise. In the passage a single jet of gas burnt mournfully, and threw a flood of light through the open doorway.
Upon the threshold stood Huston, quaking and swaying from side to side. In his trembling fingers he held a large Colt's revolver of the cavalry pattern. The tips of the conical bullets peeped from the chambers threateningly. His clumsy hands were fumbling with the hammer, which was stiff and deeply sunk within the lock; the light was bad. He raised the pistol closer to his swimming eyes, and the barrel, gleaming blue and brown alternately, wavered in the air.
'D—n the thing!' he muttered hoarsely.
The next instant there was a terrific report through the silent house.
* * * *
A moment later Trist and the nurse were at the head of the stairs; they had raced up side by side. The woman seized a worn sheepskin mat that lay at the door of an empty bedroom, and, drawing her skirts aside, knelt down and raised the mutilated face.
'Don't let it run on the floor,' she gasped, 'it is so horrible!'
They were both old hands and callous enough to be very quick. By the time that the startled household was aroused, the dead man (for the great bullet had passed right through his brain) was laid upon his bed, and Trist had already gone for the doctor.