His heart cried, "Is this man right? Am I unfit to live?"
No-man got to his knees unsteadily and swayed with weakness as he took up the weapon and loaded. His head swam. He fumbled with tremulous fingers, muttering that there wasn't room for two men in Rain's tipi. Then he turned himself round, confronting Storm, who sat with the Book clasped in his hands.
"Whar's yo' gun?"
"My gun?"
Storm's mind flashed back to his interview with a real bear, a much more formidable enemy than this, and how his faith proved then of better avail than any medicine iron.
"Perhaps," he thought more cheerfully, "if I hadn't been no good at all, that grizzly would have got me."
"Oh," he said, "that's all right, Hiram. One gun is enough. We'll draw lots, if you like, or you can have first shot. It's all the same to me."
"Huh!" the Trapper snorted. "Play-acting, eh?"
"Oh, yes," Storm sighed. "I'm just trying to play at being a man. That's all. Shall we draw lots?"
But if the trapper waited for that, the pain would master him. He hesitated.