The old nightmare fear descended on him the moment the darkness closed about him again.  He seemed to see the limp form collect itself and prepare to rise.  But he fought this fancy away.  He would stay and make light enough to examine the extent of his victory.

He remembered having seen paper and wood lying beside the stove.  Now he scooped it up, threw off the covers of the stove, and in a moment white smoke was pouring up from the paper, then flickering bursts of flame every one of which made the body of Perris seem shuddering back to life.  But presently the fire rose and Hervey could clearly see the cabin, sadly wrecked by the struggle, and the figure of Perris still moveless.

Even now he went with gingerly steps, the gun thrust out before him.  It seemed a miracle that this tigerish fighter should have been suddenly reduced to the helplessness of a child.  Holding the gun ready, he slipped his left hand under the fallen man and after a moment, faintly but unmistakably, he felt the beating of the heart.  Let it be ended, then!

He pressed the muzzle of the revolver into the back of Perris but his finger refused to tighten around the trigger.  No, the powder-burn would prove he had shot his man from behind, and that meant hanging.  A tug of his left hand flopped the limp body over, but then his hands were more effectually tied than ever for the face of the unconscious man worked strangely on him.

“It’s him now,” thought Hervey, “or me later on.”

But still he could not shoot.  “Helpless as a child”—­why had that comparison entered his mind?  He studied the features, very pale beneath the bloody bandage which Perris had improvised when he recovered from his battle with the stallion.  He was very young—­terribly young.  Hervey was unnerved.  But suppose he let Perris come back to his senses, wakened those insolent blue eyes, started that sharp tongue to life—­then it would be a very much easier matter to shoot.

So Lew went to the door, took the rope from Red Jim’s saddle, and with it bound the arms of Perris to his side.  Then he lifted the hanging body—­how light a weight it was!—­and placed it in a chair, where it doubled over, limp as a loosely stuffed scarecrow.  Hervey tossed more wood on the fire and when he turned again, Perris was showing the first signs of returning consciousness, a twitching of his fingers.

After that his senses returned with astonishing speed.  In the space of a moment or two he had straightened in the chair, opened dead eyes, groaned faintly, and then tugged against his bonds.  It seemed that that biting of the rope into his arm-muscles cleared his mind.  All in an instant he was staring straight into the eyes and into the thoughts of Hervey with full understanding.

“I see,” said Perris, “it was the chair that turned the trick.  You’re lucky, Hervey.”