Then it seemed to Grawson that Chance was strangely calm, for a man about to die.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Chance.
The side of Grawson’s face moved, not pleasantly. “I am the law,” he said. He moved the pistol to cover Chance. The barrel seemed to waver. His hand trembled. His face was ugly to watch. He lifted the gun to Chance’s chest.
“Do not fire,” said Running Horse.
Grawson felt the barrel of a rifle push into the back of his neck, at the base of the skull.
“I saw the tracks of a horse,” said Running Horse. “I came back.”
Lucia fainted.
Chance stumbled forward, took Grawson’s gun, tried to catch his breath.
Chance looked at the bloody line on his right hand where the gun sight had cut him. He moved his fingers. He placed his own gun, taken from Grawson’s belt, and Grawson’s gun on the scarred, blackened kitchen table, checked them both over.
Grawson, for some reason, seemed calm, standing there with his hands up; his face was utterly calm, almost strong and handsome.
“I will kill him now,” said Running Horse.
“Shoot,” said Grawson.
“No,” said Chance.
Then only did Grawson’s face move, once, angrily.
“I do my own killing,” said Chance, dropping his pistol into his holster, lifting it out, dropping it again. Then he approached Grawson and placed the man’s weapon in his holster.
“You’re a killer,” said Grawson.
“That’s right,” said Chance.
“Let me kill him now,” asked Running Horse.
Chance regarded the young Indian. “No,” he said, kindly, “twice, my Brother, you have saved me from this man.” He smiled at Running Horse. Then he said, “Now Medicine Gun fights.”
Chance went to Lucia, who lay near the back wall of the soddy, still unconscious. He lifted her in his arms and kissed her, then laid her back on the snowy floor. It was better that she did not see what must be done.
Under the gun of Running Horse, Lester Grawson, his hands up, left the soddy.
Chance, and Grawson, followed by Running Horse, went some forty yards from the soddy, in front of it. “Stand here,” said Chance to Grawson. Then he paced off some twenty yards through the snow and turned to face Grawson. The line of fire would be parallel to the soddy, so that no stray bullet might strike the building. Running Horse, still covering Grawson, withdrew.
Grawson looked about wildly. He jerked his thumb at Running Horse. “How do I know that Indian won’t shoot me?” he asked.
“You don’t,” said Chance.
Grawson turned to Running Horse, and pointed at Chance. “That man killed my brother,” he said.
“Yes,” said Running Horse.
“So I have a right!” said Grawson.
“Yes,” said Running Horse.
“So if I kill him you won’t shoot me,” said Grawson.
“If you kill my Brother,” said Running Horse, “I will kill you.”
“He isn’t your brother,” shouted Grawson.
“He is my Brother,” said Running Horse.
“But you won’t shoot me,” said Grawson.
“If you kill my Brother,” said Running Horse, “I will kill you.”
“Why?” asked Grawson.
“It is my right,” said Running Horse.
Grawson looked at Chance.
“If I am killed,” said Chance, “do not hurt him.”
“No,” said Running Horse quietly.
“I ask it,” said Chance.
Running Horse looked at him, stricken.
“Please,” said Chance.
“I am Hunkpapa,” said Running Horse.
“Please,” said Chance.
Running Horse lowered his rifle. “If it is the wish of my Brother,” he said.
“It is my wish,” said Chance. Chance looked at Grawson. “If you win,” he said, “you’ll be safe.” Then he said, “But my Brother will protect the woman. If you try to hurt her he will kill you.”
“I don’t want the woman,” said Grawson.
“Edward,” Chance heard, Lucia’s voice, from the threshold of the soddy. He didn’t take his eyes off Grawson. “Stand clear,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her standing, in the buckskin dress, in front of the soddy, Running Horse now standing beside her.
Chance stood across the snow, some twenty yards from Grawson. The burned soddy, the woman and the Indian, were in the background. There wasn’t much wind. The sky was clear. It wouldn’t snow for a day or two most likely.