Dan Barry stood with one hand pressed over his
eyes and the other dangled at his side, harmless, while he frowned in
bewilderment at the floor.
He said slowly, at length: "Buck, I kind of think you're right. They
ain't no use in me. I been rememberin', Buck, how you sent Kate to me
when I was sick."
There was a loud clatter; the revolver dropped from the hand of Buck
Daniels.
The musical voice of Dan Barry murmured again: "And I remember how you
stood up to Jim Silent, for my sake. Buck, what's come between us since
them days? You hit me a while back, and since then I been wantin' your
blood--but hearin' you talk now, somehow--I feel sort of lost and
lonesome--like I'd thrown somethin' away that I valued most."
Buck Daniels threw out his great arms and his voice was broken terribly.
"Oh, God A'mighty, Dan," he cried, "jest take one step back to me and
I'll come all the way around the world to meet you!"
He stumbled across the floor and grasped at the hand of Barry, for a
mist had half-blinded his eyes.
"Dan," he pleaded, "ain't things as they once was? D'you forgive me?"
"Why, Buck," murmured Dan Barry, in that same bewildered fashion, "seems
like we was bunkies once."
"Dan," muttered Buck Daniels, choking, "Dan----" but he dared not trust
his voice further, and turning, he fairly fled from the room.
The dazed eyes of Dan Barry followed him. Then they moved until they
encountered the face of Kate Cumberland.
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