Suddenly Rivers stopped and listened. His face grew set and dark with apprehension. "Here, put your veil back, quick! It's Bailey! Don't answer him, unless I tell you to." Outside a clear voice pierced through the wind. It was Bailey speaking to the horses. Rivers went on, angrily: "If you'd been half dressed, this wouldn't have happened. There'll be hell to pay unless I can convince him--" A hand was laid on the knob and Bailey entered. "Hello, Jim! I didn't think you'd come out to-day." He eyed the muffled woman sharply. "Who've you got with you--Mrs. Burke?" "It don't concern you," Rivers replied. He saw his mistake instantly, and changed his tone. "Yes, I'm taking her home. Come, Mrs. Burke, we must be going." "Wait a minute, Jim," said Bailey. He studied them both carefully. "Something's wrong here. I feel that. Where are you going, Jim?" Rivers' wrath flamed out. "None o' your business. Come, Blanche." He turned to her. His tones betrayed him again. Bailey faced him, with his back to the door. "Wait a minute, Jim." "Get out o' my way." There was a silence, and in that silence the two men faced each other as if under some strange light. They seemed alien to each other, yet familiar, too. Bailey spoke first: "Jim, I know all about it. You're stealing another man's wife--and, by God, I won't let you do it!" His voice shook so that he hardly uttered his sentence intelligibly. The sweat of shame broke out on his face, but he did not falter. "I've seen this coming on all summer. I ought to have interfered before--" Rivers laid a hand on him. "Stand out o' my way, or I'll kill you." The quiver went out of Bailey's voice. He took his partner's hand down from his shoulder, and when he dropped it there was a bracelet of whitened flesh where his fingers had circled it. "You'll stay right here, Jim, till I say 'go.'" 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.