Longstreth stood perhaps ten feet from the table where his gun lay Duane saw him calculating chances. He was game. He had the courage that forced Duane to respect him. Duane just saw him measure the distance to that gun. He was magnificent. He meant to do it. Duane would have to kill him.
“Longstreth, listen,” cried Duane, swiftly. “The game's up. You're done. But think of your daughter! I'll spare your life—I'll try to get you freedom on one condition. For her sake! I've got you nailed—all the proofs. There lies Lawson. You're alone. I've Morton and men to my aid. Give up. Surrender. Consent to demands, and I'll spare you. Maybe I can persuade MacNelly to let you go free back to your old country. It's for Ray's sake! Her life, perhaps her happiness, can be saved! Hurry, man! Your answer!”
“Suppose I refuse?” he queried, with a dark and terrible earnestness.
“Then I'll kill you in your tracks! You can't move a hand! Your word or death! Hurry, Longstreth! Be a man! For her sake! Quick! Another second now—I'll kill you!”
“All right, Buck Duane, I give my word,” he said, and deliberately walked to the chair and fell into it.
Longstreth looked strangely at the bloody blot on Duane's shoulder.
“There come the girls!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Can you help me drag Lawson inside? They mustn't see him.”
Duane was facing down the porch toward the court and corrals. Miss Longstreth and Ruth had come in sight, were swiftly approaching, evidently alarmed. The two men succeeded in drawing Lawson into the house before the girls saw him.
“Duane, you're not hard hit?” said Longstreth.
“Reckon not,” replied Duane.