THE TRACKS WE TREAD 261
Randal! you silly old fool! why don't you punch my head? It would do you heaps of good!"
Randal did not answer. Ormond knew that he did not hear. He stared down into the fire until Ormond covered it with the frying pan, dropping a cartridge from his pocket as he stooped. Randal picked it up. Then he went over to the bunk and snapped open the breech of his gun. Lastly, he looked at Ormond and grinned. It was not a nice grin.
"Thanks," he said. "You're very consider- ate, Ormond. But don't you think I'd have done it long ago if I'd meant to take that way?"
"I don't know," said Ormond; "for you do not know yourself, Randal."
Randal slid his hand into his side pocket; pulled out some cartridges and reloaded in two movements.
"Wait a minute," he said to the face show- ing faintly in the smoky shadows. "I want to ask you something." His voice shook and thickened. "If you can tell me that she — ^has not forgotten, I'U wait till the end of time to help her if she wants me. If you can't — I'll blaze out my own track, and it's no business of yours or of any other man's. Well? Tell me, can't you? You know, for you have seen her. She gave you the things."
