eBooks Base 2000

Beaton's hand was in the pocket of his coat, and, as he
turned, apparently to leave the room, the cloth bulged. With one leap
forward the miner was at his throat. There was a report, a flash of
flame, the speeding bullet striking the stove, and the next instant
Beaton, his hand still helplessly imprisoned within the coat-pocket,
was hurled back across the card-table, the players scattering to get
out of the way. All the pent-up dislike in Westcott's heart found
expression in action; the despicable trick wrought him to a sudden
fury, yet even then there came to him no thought of killing the fellow,
no memory even of the loaded gun at his hip. He wanted to choke him,
strike him with his hands.
"You dirty coward," he muttered fiercely. "So you thought the pocket
trick was a new one out here, did you? Come, give the gun up! Oh! so
there is some fight left in you? Then let's settle it here."
It was a struggle between two big, strong men--the one desperate,
unscrupulous, brutal; the other angry enough, but retaining
self-control.


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