"Don't! Oh, don't kill him!" Her voice
rose almost to a shriek. "Don't kill him--for my sake!"
The muzzle of the gun lowered and without releasing an ounce of
pressure upon the grip-locked body of the man, MacNair slowly turned
his eyes to meet the eyes of the girl. Never in her life had she
looked into eyes like that--eyes that gleamed and stabbed, and burned
with a terrible pent-up emotion. The eyes of Tiger Elliston,
intensified a hundredfold! And then MacNair's lips moved and his voice
came low but distinctly and with terrible hardness.
"I am not going to kill him," he said, "but, by God! He will wish I
had! I hope he will live to be an old, old man. To the day of his
death he will carry my mark. Bone-deep he will carry the scar of the
gun-brand! The cross of the curse of Cain!"
MacNair turned from the girl and again the gun crept slowly upward.
The quarter-breed had heard the words. With a mighty effort he filled
his lungs and from between the blue-grey lips sang a wild, shrill
scream of abysmal soul-terror. Chloe Elliston's heart went sick at the
cry, which rang in her ears as the very epitome of mortal agony.
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