arrest, then you go to jail, an' mebbe you hang."

"I'd never hang," muttered Duane, darkly.

"I reckon you wouldn't," replied the old man. "You'd be like
your father. He was ever ready to draw--too ready. In times
like these, with the Texas rangers enforcin' the law, your Dad
would have been driven to the river. An', son, I'm afraid
you're a chip off the old block. Can't you hold in--keep your
temper--run away from trouble? Because it'll only result in you
gettin' the worst of it in the end. Your father was killed in a
street-fight. An' it was told of him that he shot twice after a
bullet had passed through his heart. Think of the terrible
nature of a man to be able to do that. If you have any such
blood in you, never give it a chance."

"What you say is all very well, uncle," returned Duane, "but
the only way out for me is to run, and I won't do it. Cal Bain
and his outfit have already made me look like a coward. He says
I'm afraid to come out and face him. A man simply can't stand
that in this country. Besides, Cal would shoot me in the back
some day if I didn't face him."

"Well, then, what're you goin' to do?" inquired the elder man.

"I haven't decided--yet."

"No, but you're comin' to it mighty fast. That damned spell is
workin' in you. You're different to-day. I remember how you
used to be moody an' lose your temper an' talk wild. Never was