“‘Rather he’d kill you? or me?’
“He looked at me doubtfully. ‘I don’t want to kill him. I couldn’t kill him.’
“‘All right, let him kill me.’
“No, I think I could stop him,’ he said. Not very satisfactory, but it was the best I could get out of him.
“We took watch about. But Guerrin fooled me properly. I don’t deserve to be alive. After fifteen years in the force, handling bad men of all kinds! That devil played ’possum, dragged back, growing weaker and weaker, couldn’t eat, staggered on march like a drunken man, and at the end of the first day fell down and lay like a log. Begad, I thought I’d never get him in. The whole weight fell on Paul, trail breaking, packing, mushing. Two nights out from the Fort, Guerrin staggered into camp, fell down and refused to move. We made him comfortable before the fire, fed him soup and stuff. Paul was pretty well in that night, and didn’t tie up my prisoner. I took the first watch myself, hadn’t had much sleep so fell off. Don’t know what it was—one of the dogs, I think, gave a snort in his sleep—I opened my eyes, and, by Jove! six feet away was Guerrin, knife in hand, on the crouch for a leap. I gave one yell and flung myself as far as I could to one side. His knife touched a rib and glanced off. Before I could get my gun he was on me, jabbing like all possessed. I managed to grab his knife hand and hold him off. My shout woke Paul, but he seemed dazed for a moment.
“‘Shoot!’ I yelled. ‘Shoot, you damned fool!’
“With one leap he covered the distance between us and was at Guerrin’s throat. But that half-breed was like a wild cat; he squirmed free and was off on the forward trail where it opened into a little lake, Paul after him like a hound after a fox. ‘Shoot! shoot!’ I kept yelling. He paid no attention. I laced up my moccasins, tied up my foot and hobbled off as best I could after them. I hadn’t gone one hundred yards when I came on ’em. Say, there was nothing to it. That boy was all over him like ten thousand cats, and before I could come up had him lying quiet and still, not a move out of him. I don’t know what he did or how—knocked him out, I fancy—but that breed walked back to camp, dropped to his bed and went to sleep like a baby.
“‘How in hell did you get him?’ I shouted at him, for I confess I was considerably worked up.
“‘Oh, quite easy. He can’t run very fast and he doesn’t know how to fight.’ The champion runner and the wickedest fighter in the North Country!
“‘Where did you learn to fight?’