“Why! ’Tis Nicholas Merle! I thought you had gone home to your wife.” The other rose and Elias saw his teeth flash white under the moon. “You rash fool, are you so weary of living that you come here to hunt for your death? Yes, Nick Merle—a name that if you were a northern clown instead of a Westerner, would make you shake in your shoes. You know too much, my good clod. You had been wiser to leave this wood alone to-night, for leave it again you never will.” “Yet that grave was not dug for me, I suppose?” “No, since you are curious. But I can find room for two in it.” He snatched up a pistol and fired point-blank. Bassett felt a fiery stab in his shoulder; then he dashed in and closed. The men rolled together upon the ground, but handicapped by his wound, the keeper had little chance. His grip relaxed, his head fell back, and the other, who knew that he had hit him, supposed the man was dead. Merle dragged his foe to the grave, and rolled him in without ceremony; then, seeing that Elias moved, hearing that he moaned, the rascal turned to get his second pistol and make an end of the matter. But the pistol was in another hand. Minnie had seen her old suitor slain, as she supposed, and a great grief for the moment banished personal fear. In that moment she acted, leapt quickly to the boulders beneath her hiding-place, crept near the battle unseen, and, as her cousin returned and stood erect, she confronted him with his own weapon raised and cocked. “Brave heart!” he cried. “You had come to my rescue, dear Minnie, but, thank Heaven, I was one too many for this blackguardly footpad myself. He had traced me, how I know not, and wanted my watch. But he’ll need the time no more. He sleeps, and no stroke but the stroke of doom will waken him again. Give me my pistol, dear heroine!” “Nay,” she said. “I am not deceived. I know my life is in my hand, and I am not going to put it into yours. Come an inch nearer and I will shoot you, for you are a murderer, and worse than a murderer.” The man fell back. He had himself taught Minnie to shoot with small arms, and he knew that she was a good pupil. “Sit down and let us talk,” he said. “With that poor man groaning his life out there—for me? Go—go now. If I was not a weak fool, I would shoot you in cold blood.” He reflected rapidly, then so acted that he might deceive her into his reach, and surprise the weapon from her before she could use it. “You will live to regret this dreadful error, Minnie Merle. No man or woman wrongs me without suffering for it. There is some treachery here; but I will be even with my enemies. I always am.” He went slowly toward his horse and she hung back and let him lead the way. “Little did I think when I taught you how to use that toy that you would one night turn it against your faithful lover,” he said with deep sorrow in his voice. “I have seen you dig my grave,” she answered. “You are not worthy to live. Go, because I have loved you.”