"Well," cried Dix, "get out of the door then and let me pass!"
"Not just yet," said Abner; "I have something to say to you."
"Say it then," cried Dix, "and get out of the door."
"Why hurry?" said Abner. "It's a long time until daylight, and I have a good deal to say."
"You'll not say it to me," said Dix. "I've got a trip to make tonight; get out of the door."
Abner did not move. "You've got a longer trip to make tonight than you think, Dix," he said; "but you're going to hear what I have to say before you set out on it."
I saw Dix rise on his toes and I knew what he wished for. He wished for a weapon; and he wished for the bulk of bone and muscle that would have a chance against Abner. But he had neither the one nor the other. And he stood there on his toes and began to curse—low, vicious, withering oaths, that were like the swish of a knife.
Abner was looking at the man with a curious interest.
"It is strange," he said, as though speaking to himself, "but it explains the thing. While one is the servant of neither, one has the courage of neither; but when he finally makes his choice he gets what his master has to give him."
Then he spoke to Dix.
"Sit down!" he said; and it was in that deep, level
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