The Colonel turned red: “What do you mean, sah?”
“Swear it, swear it, on yo' honor as a gentleman—”
“On my honor as a gentleman, sah? I swear it.”
“Go,” said the old man quickly, “an' look in the mouth of the mare they are jes' bringin' in—the mare that won that heat. Go, an' remember yo' honor pledged. Go an' don't excite suspicion.”
The old man sat down and, as he waited, he thought. Never before had he thought so hard. Never had such a burden been put upon him. When he looked up Colonel Troup stood pale and silent before him—pale with close-drawn lips and a hot, fierce, fighting gleam in his eyes.
“You've explained it, sah—” he said. Then he fumbled his pistol in his pocket. “Now—now, give me back my promise, my word. I have two thousand dollars at stake, and—and clean sport, sah,—clean sport. Give me back my word.”
“Sit down,” said the old man quietly.
The Colonel sat down so still that it was painful. He was calm but the Bishop saw how hard the fight was.
Then the old man broke out: “I can't—O God, I can't! I can't make a character, why should I take one? It's so easy to take a word—a nod—it is gone! And if left maybe it 'ud come agin. Richard Travis—it looks bad—he may be bad—but think what he may do yet—if God but touch him? No man's so bad but that God can't touch him—change him. We may live to see him do grand and noble things—an' God will touch him,” said the old man hotly, “he will yet.”
“If you are through with me,” said Colonel Troup, coolly, “and will give me back my promise, I'll go and touch him—yes, damn him, I'll shoot him as he should be.”