"Have you got any matches?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Of course you have, you villain! The same you set my house on fire with. Well, now rake up some brush, and make a little fire here."
"What for?" said he quickly, for I believe he thought for a moment I meant to roast him alive. I undeceived him if that was his idea.
"So that we can see each other," I replied, "for I'm going to give you a chance for your life, though you don't deserve it. Where's your six-shooter?"
"I dropped it," he grunted.
"And I picked it up," said I. "So make haste if you don't want to be killed with your own weapon!"
What his thoughts were I can't say, but without more words he set about making a fire, soon having a vigorous blaze, by which I saw plainly enough the looks of fear, distrust, and hatred he cast at me. But he piled on the branches, though I checked him once or twice when I thought he was going too far to gather them. When there was sufficient light to illuminate the whole space about us and the opposing bank of the cañon, I told him that was enough.
"That will do," I said; "go and stand at the edge of the cañon!"
He hesitated.