Then I pealed
out a cry--hoarse, strange, yet far-reaching. It was answered by a
shout. Sampson heard it. It called forth all that was in the man. He
flung Wright's body off. But even as it dropped, before Sampson could
recover to leap as he surely intended for the gun, I covered him, called
piercingly to him. I could kill him there or as he moved. But one chance
I gave him.
"Don't jump for the gun! Don't! I'll kill you! I've got two shells left!
Sure as God, I'll kill you!"
He stood perhaps ten feet from the table where his gun lay. I saw him
calculating chances. He was game. He had the courage that forced me to
respect him. I just saw him measure the distance to that gun. He was
magnificent. He meant to do it. I would have to kill him.
"Sampson, listen!" I cried, very swiftly. "The game's up! You're done!
But think of your daughter! I'll spare your life, I'll give you freedom
on one condition. For her sake! I've got you nailed--all the proofs.
It was I behind the wall the other night. Blome, Hilliard, Pickens, Bo
Snecker, are dead. I killed Bo Snecker on the way up here. There lies
Wright. You're alone. And here comes Morton and his men to my aid.
"Give up! Surrender! Consent to demands and I'll spare you.
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