'Pace her off,
David--fifty paces, wheel, an' niver a cease firin' till a lad's
down for good. 'Tis their hearts'll niver let them do the deed,
an' it's well ye should know it for a true Yankee bluff.'
He started off with a pleased grin on his face, but Malemute Kid
halted him.
'Lon! It's a long while since you first knew me?' 'Many's the
day.' 'And you, Bettles?'
'Five year next June high water.' 'And have you once, in all that
time, known me to break my word' Or heard of me breaking it?'
Both men shook their heads, striving to fathom what lay beyond.
'Well, then, what do you think of a promise made by me?' 'As good
as your bond,' from Bettles.
'The thing to safely sling yer hopes of heaven by,' promptly
endorsed Lon McFane.
'Listen! I, Malemute Kid, give you my word--and you know what
that means that the man who is not shot stretches rope within ten
minutes after the shooting.' He stepped back as Pilate might have
done after washing his hands.
A pause and a silence came over the men of Forty-Mile. The sky
drew still closer, sending down a crystal flight of frost--little
geometric designs, perfect, evanescent as a breath, yet destined
to exist till the returning sun had covered half its northern
journey.
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