It was then there was something cold and deathlike in my soul; it was
then I bade farewell to Sally Langdon. For I knew, whatever happened, of
one thing I was sure--I would have to kill either Sampson or Wright.
Snecker could be managed; Sampson might be trapped into arrest; but
Wright had no sense, no control, no fear. He would snarl like a panther
and go for his gun, and he would have to be killed. This, of all
consummations, was the one to be calculated upon. And, of course, by
Sally's own words, that contingency would put me forever outside the
pale for her.
I did not deceive myself; I did not accept the slightest intimation of
hope; I gave her up. And then for a time regret, remorse, pain, darkness
worked their will with me.
I came out of it all bitter and callous and sore, in the most fitting of
moods to undertake a difficult and deadly enterprise. Miss Sampson
completely slipped my mind; Sally became a wraith as of some one dead;
Steele began to fade. In their places came the bushy-bearded Snecker,
the olive-skinned Sampson with his sharp eyes, and dark, evil faced
Wright. Their possibilities began to loom up, and with my speculation
returned tenfold more thrilling and sinister the old strange zest of the
man-hunt.
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