"Now," said the soft voice of Barry, "we're equally armed.--Down,
Bart!----" (for the wolf-dog was slinking with ominous intent towards
the giant) and there's the dog you shot. "If you drop me, you can send
your next shot into Bart. If I drop you, the teeth of Bart will be in
your throat. Make your own terms; fight in the way you want; knives, if
you like 'em better than guns, or----" and here the yellow flamed
terribly in Barry's eyes--"bare hand to hand!"
The grim truth sank slowly home in the dull mind of Mac Strann. The man
had saved him from the water to kill him on dry land.
"Barry," he said slowly, "it was your bullet that brung down Jerry; but
you've paid me back here. They's nothin' left on earth worth fightin'
for. There's your gun."
And he threw the revolver into the mud at Barry's feet, turned on his
heel, and lumbered off into the rain. There was no voice of answer
behind him, except a shrill whine of rage from Black Bart and then a
sharp command: "Down!" from the master. As the blanket of rain shut over
him, Mac Strann looked back. There stood the strange man with the wolf
crouched at his feet, and the teeth of Bart were bared, and the hum of
his horrible snarling carried to Strann through the beat of the rain.
Mac Strann turned again, and plodded slowly through the storm.
And Dan Barry? Twice men had stood before him, armed, and twice he had
failed to kill. Wonder rose in him; wonder and a great fear.
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