Garth thoroughly distrusted the man; but he could see no harm to Natalie in accepting his offer, while privately determining to relax none of his vigilance. It was only too true, as Mabyn had said; neither could afford to quarrel. Mabyn had no gun, and Garth could not leave Natalie's side for an instant.
"I am willing," said Garth readily. "But it's understood this doesn't affect what I said before. You are not to come within a hundred yards of this camp!"
Mabyn shrugged, as at the unworthiness of Garth's suspicions.
"You agree to it?" Garth persisted.
"All right!" said Mabyn—a shade too readily. "Shake!"
Garth shifted his gun; and advanced to take Mabyn's hand. The man could not keep an ugly little gleam from showing in his shifty gray eye; and Garth stopped abruptly. Mabyn sneered. Garth, fired by one of the imperious impulses of the blood of youth, strode forward and grasped the extended hand defiantly.
He saw instantly his mistake. Mabyn's face was suddenly transfigured by the deadly hatred he had long repressed. His right hand closed on Garth's like a vice; and at the same time a knife slipped out of his sleeve into the other hand. He jerked the surprised Garth halfway round; and aimed a blow between his shoulders. Garth was oddly conscious of the fresh marks of the whetstone on the blade of the knife. With the incredible swiftness of our subconscious moves, he dropped his useless gun; and twisting his body around, flung up his free hand, and warded the descending blow. Seizing Mabyn's wrist, he flung himself forward to bear the other back.
It was all very brief. Mabyn, braced to receive Garth's weight, held his ground. Inspired with a febrile strength, he enjoyed a temporary advantage. Unable to reach Garth's back, he thrust desperately at his face, his neck—but only stabbed the air. They were locked together with their arms crossed—surely as strange a posture as ever men fought in! But Mabyn had staked all on the first blow; and that failing, there could be but one result. His fictitious strength suddenly failing, he collapsed in Garth's arms. Garth wrenched his hand free and hurled him to the ground, where he lay, livid and sobbing for breath. The attack had been contrived with devilish cunning; but every design this man undertook in life was foredoomed to failure.
Garth secured the knife; and stood looking down at the broken wretch, with strong waves of disgust welling over him. He laughed briefly.
"Too contemptible to kill!" he said; and turned on his heel.