'"
Rivers reached for a weapon. "Will I?" he asked. "I wonder if I will?"
Blanche burst out: "Oh, Jim, don't! Please don't!"
The men did not hear her. They saw no one, heard no one. They were
facing each other in utter disregard of time or place.
Bailey's tone grew sad and tender, but he did not move: "All right, Jim.
If you want to go to hell as the murderer of your best friend, as well
as for stealing another man's wife, do it. But you sha'n't go out of
this door with that woman _while I live_. Now, that's final." His voice
was low, and his words came slowly, but not from weakness.
For a moment hell looked from the other man's eyes. He was like a tiger
intercepted in his leap upon his prey. The laugh had vanished from his
hazel eyes--they were gray and cold and savage, but there was something
equally forceful in Bailey's gaze.
Rivers could not shoot. He was infuriate, but he was not insane. He
turned away, cursing his luck. His face, twitching and white, was
terrible to look upon, but the crisis was over.
Bailey's eyes lightened.
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