Up on the hill there was a sharp break, a heavy footstep on a dead root. Would John go back or come on? he was strong enough to master both. Yarrow's throat choked, but he led the horse steadily down the path, deaf to Frazier's questions.
"Do not draw rein until you reach the station," giving him the bridle at last.
The old man looked back: he had seen the figure dimly.
"If there's danger, I'll not leave you to meet it alone, my friend," fumbling in his breast for a weapon.
Yarrow stamped impatiently.
"Put spurs to your horse!"—wiping his mouth; "it will be yet too late!"
Frazier gave a glance at his face, and obeyed him. A moment more, and he was out of sight. Yarrow watched him, and then slowly turned, and raised his head. Soulé had come down, and was standing close beside him, leaning on his gun. It was the last time the brothers ever faced each other, and their natures, as God made them, came out bare in that look: Yarrow's, under all, was the tougher-fibred of the two. John's eyes fell.
"Stephen, this will hurt me. I"—
"I thought it was well done,"—his hand going uncertainly to his mouth.
"Well, well! you have chosen,"—after a pause.