sat outside in the snow till Neal came back; then we went into the shack together and agreed to wait till it was over—no man on earth could have done any shooting in that storm then, and we knew we couldn't get back to camp till it was over. We sat there in the shack, and looked at each other. Night came, and we were still looking; only now we couldn't see each other any longer, but sat waiting to hear the other moving—only neither of us moved. Then we did—slowly and carefully. Sometimes I sat in one place, sometimes in another, for I didn't want him to know just where I was for fear he'd shoot. But he was afraid to shoot first; for if he missed, I'd see him by the flash and get him, sure. It kept on snowing. Once Neal said, 'We'll settle this thing in the morning.' 'All right,' says I—but moved again, for I thought he would surely shoot then.
"I kept wondering when my nerve would go, but it stayed by me, and I tell you I enjoyed it; he moved more often than I did. For the first time in my life I wasn't afraid of Neal Sheppard; and he was afraid of me. He laid down in one of the bunks and I could hear him turning from side to side; but he didn't dare to sleep any, and I didn't either. Then he said, 'This is hell, ain't it!' 'If it is,' I said, 'it's a taste of what you're going to get after!' After I'd shot him, I meant. Then he said, 'I want to sleep, and I can't sleep while you're living; let's settle this thing now!'
"'In the dark?' I asked. 'Not if I can find a light,' he says, and I promised not to shoot him while he lit a match—I had none. He lit one and looked for a piece of candle, but couldn't find any. Then I
