There was something just a little strained and by no means pleasant to hear in the familiar, husky voice that answered, “Ain’t it kind o’ dangerous out there?  Suppose you was to fall off there?”

“I don’t choose to suppose it,” was the steady answer.  “Let’s talk about something else.”

“It ain’t pleasant to think of, is it?” the huskily-musical voice went on.  “It must be something like a hundred foot to the rocks down there.”  He paused and began again:  “Moonshine’s a queerish light, though, ain’t it?  Makes you look as white now as if you was scared.”

“That’s very strange, isn’t it?” Field replied.  “Do you think it would have the same effect on you if you stood in my place?”

“I’m ——­ if I don’t!” Long broke out, with a twitching motion of his head, and trembling as he spoke; “and I’d be so cold my teeth would chatter and my veins grog.”

“Come,” Field said sternly, beginning to feel that if he stood much longer on that spot he should grow dizzy and fall, “let’s have no more of this.  Have you anything you wish to propose?  If you haven’t, I’ll trouble you to move on and let me pass.”

“I propose,” replied the other, with a twist of his head, as if there was something in his throat hard to swallow, speaking slowly and repeating the words—­“I propose to throw you over.”

Field knew that the fellow united the strength of the bear and the agility of the wild-cat.  He knew that, even if he had not the terrible disadvantage of position, he would stand no chance in a struggle.  Glancing down, he caught the flash of a wave upon the black rocks far below.  But he only bit his lip and stood still, a little whiter perhaps, but his eyes never flinching from the other’s face.  When he did not speak, Long asked, “Do you know what that means?”

The answer came straight and startling, “Yes, it means death.”

“I guess you’re about right,” Long continued.  “And I calculate you’re about as well prepared as you’ll ’most ever be.”

Field began to show the strain upon his nerves and the sense of his desperate state, but only by the evident tension of the muscles of the jaw and the unnatural calm of his manner and low, forced tone.  “Very likely,” he said; and added slowly, “but I’ll not go alone.”

“Maybe not.  I don’t much care,” was the sullen reply.  “This place or that since you come, there ain’t much choice.  But if you’ve got anything on your mind that you’d like to have off before you quit, you’d best have it up.”

“I have only one thing to say to you,” was the reply:  “you are not going to throw me over.”  There was a dimness in his young eyes then and a rising in his throat.  He thought of a great many things and people in a very brief space, and the world and a score of friendly faces seemed very sweet and hard to let go.  And yet at the same time another and sterner self steadfastly put all that aside, and triumphed over the shrinking