“Don't kill him, Vic. He's frough of fighting now. Don't hurt him no more.” Vic staid his hand at the words. The few minutes of this mad-beast duel had made him forget the sound of human voices. He half lifted himself from Gresh's body at Bug's cry. And Bug, wise beyond his years, quaint-minded little Bug, said, softly: “Fordive us our debts as we fordive our debtors.” Strange, loving words of the Man of Galilee, spoken on the mountain-side long, long ago, and echoed now by childish lips in the dying light of the cavern to these two men, drunk with brute-lust for human blood! For Vic the words struck like blows. All the years since his father's death he had waited for this hour. At last he had met and vanquished the man who had taken his father's life, and now, exultant in his victory, came this little child's voice. The cave darkened. A mist, half blood, half blindness, came before his eyes, but clear to his ears there sounded the ringing words: “Vengeance is mine; I will repay!” It was the voice of Discipline calling to his better judgment, as Bug's innocent pleading spoke to the finer man within him. Under his grip Gresh lay motionless, all power of resistance threshed out of him. “Are you ready to quit?” Vic questioned, hoarsely, bending over the almost lifeless form. The outlaw mumbled assent. “Then I'll let you live, you miserable wretch, and the courts will take care of you.” Burleigh himself was faint from strife and loss of blood. As he relaxed his vigilance the last atom of strength, the last hope of escape returned to Gresh. He sprang to his feet, staggered blindly then, quick as a panther, he leaped through the hole in the farther wall, wriggled swiftly into the blind crevices of the inner cave, and was gone. It was Trench who dressed Vic's head that night and shielded him until his strength returned. But it was Bond Saxon who counseled patience. “Don't squeal to the sheriff now,” he urged. “The scoundrel is gone, and it would make a nine days' hooray, and nothing would come of it. He was darned slick to take the time when Funnybone was away.” “Why?” Vic asked. But Bond would not tell why. And Vic never dreamed how much cause Bond Saxon had to dread the day when Tom Gresh should be brought into court, and his own great crime committed in his drunken hours would demand retribution. So Lagonda Ledge and Sunrise knew nothing of what had occurred. Burleigh had no recourse but to wait, while Bug buttoned up his lips, as he had done for Burgess out at Pigeon Place, and conveniently “fordot” what he chose not to tell. But he wandered no more alone about the pretty by-corners of Lagonda Ledge. CHAPTER XIV. THE DERELICTS _I dimly guess from blessings known Of greater out of sight, And, with the chastened Psalmist, own His judgments, too, are right. I know not what the future hath Of marvel or surprise, Assured alone that life and death His mercy underlies_. --WHITTIER