No shame, no downward head, no remorse. And he was subtly and strangely changed. She could not put the difference into words. But his eye seemed larger and brighter--it was no longer possible for her to look deeply into it, as she had done so easily the night before. And there were other differences. He held his head in a more lordly fashion. About every movement there was a singular ease and precision. He walked with a lighter step and with a catlike softness almost as odd as that of Denver. His step had been light before, but it was not like this. But through him and about him there was an air of uneasy, alert happiness--as of one who steals a few perfect moments, knowing that they will not be many. A great pity welled in her, and a great anger. It was the anger which showed. "Terry Hollis, what have you done? You're lookin' me in the eye, but you ought to be hangin' your head. You've done murder! Murder! Murder!" She let the three words ring through the room like three blows, cutting the talk to silence. And all save Terry seemed moved. He was laughing down at her--actually laughing, and there was no doubt as to the sincerity of that mirth. His presence drew her and repelled her; she became afraid for the first time in her life. "A little formality with a gun," he said calmly. "A dog got in my way, Kate--a mad dog. I shot the beast to keep it from doing harm." "Ah, Terry, I know everything. I've heard Denver tell it. I know it was a man, Terry." He insisted carelessly. "By the Lord, Kate, only a dog--and a mad dog at that. Perhaps there was the body of a man, but there was the soul of a dog inside the skin. Tut! it isn't worth talking about." She drew away from him. "Terry, God pity you. I pity you," she went on hurriedly and faintly. "But you ain't the same any more, Terry. I--I'm almost afraid of you!" He tried laughingly to stop her, and in a sudden burst of hysterical terror she fled from him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him come after her, light as a shadow. And the shadow leaped between her and the door; the force of her rush drove her into his arms. In the distance she could hear the others laughing--they understood such a game as this, and enjoyed it with all their hearts. Ah, the fools! He held her lightly, his fingertips under her elbows. For all the delicacy of that touch, she knew that if she attempted to flee, the grip would be iron. He would hold her where she was until he was through talking to her. "Don't you see what I've done?" he was saying rapidly. "You wanted to drive me out last night. You said I didn't fit--that I didn't belong up here. Well, Kate, I started out today to make myself fit to belong to this company of fine fellows." He laughed a little; if it were not real mirth, at least there was a fierce quality of joy in his voice. "You see, I decided that if I went away I'd be lonely. Particularly, I'd be lonely as the devil, Kate, for you!" "You've murdered to make yourself one--of us?"