"There is no magic that can turn bright steel," she said, then squatted again in the dimness outside of the firelight. Gale slid the case from the long blade and held it in his palm, letting the firelight flicker on it. He balanced it and tested the feel of its handle against his palm, then tried the edge of it with his thumb-nail, and found it honed like a razor.
"A child could kill with it," said Alluna. "Both edges of the blade are so thin that a finger's weight will bury it. One should hold the wrist firmly till it pierces through the coat, that is all—after that the flesh takes it easily, like butter."
The glancing, glinting light flashing from the deadly thing seemed to fascinate the man, for he held it a long while silently. Then he spoke.
"For fifteen years I've been a haunted man, with a soul like a dark and dismal garret peopled with bats and varmints that flap and flutter all the time. I used to figger that if I killed this man I'd kill that memory, too, and those flitting, noiseless things would leave me, but the thought of doing it made me afraid every time, so I ran away, which never did no good—you can't outfoot a memory—and I knew all the while that we'd meet sooner or later. Now that the day is here at last, I'm not ready for it. I'd like to run away again if there was any place to run to, but I've followed frontiers till I've seen them disappear one by one; I've retreated till my back is against the Circle, and there isn't any further land to go to. All the time I've prayed and planned for this meeting, and yet—I'm undecided."
"Kill him!" said Alluna.
"God knows I've always hated trouble, whereas it's what he lives on. I've always wanted to die in bed, while he's been a killer all his life and the smoke hangs forever in his eyes. Only for an accident we might have lived here all our days and never had a 'run-in,' which makes me wonder if I hadn't better let things go on as they are."
"Kill him! It is the law," repeated Alluna, stubbornly, but he put her aside with a slow shake of the head and arose as if very tired.
"No! I don't think I can do it—not in cold blood, anyhow. Good-night! I'm going to sleep on it." He crossed to the door of his room, but as he went she noted that he slipped the knife and scabbard inside the bosom of his shirt.