And as he spoke, he whirled, the heavy revolver leaping into his hand.

Still Kate Cumberland could not close her eyes on the horror.  She could not even cry out; she was frozen.

But there was no report—­no spurt of smoke—­no form of a man stumbling blindly towards death.  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.  A shock, as if of surprise, widened the lids.  For a long moment they stared in silence, and then he began to walk, very slowly, a step at a time, towards the girl.  Now, as he faced her, she saw that there was no longer a hint of the yellow in his eyes, but he stepped closer and closer; he was right before her, watching her with an expression of mute suffering that made her heart grow large.

He said, more to himself than to her:  “Seems like I been away a long time.”

“A very long time,” she whispered.

He drew a great breath.

“Is it true, what Buck said?  About you?”

“Oh, my dear, my dear!” she cried.  “Don’t you see?”

He started a little, and taking both her hands he made her face the dull light from the windows.

“Seems like you’re kind of pale, Kate.”

“The colour went while I waited for you, Dan.”

“But there comes a touch of red—­like morning—­in your throat, and runnin’ up your cheeks.”

“Don’t you see?  It’s because you’ve come back!”

He closed his eyes and murmured:  “I remember we was close—­closer than this.  We were sittin’ here—­in this room—­by a fire.  And then something called me out and I follered it.”