"We can't do it," he said. "We simply can't do it, Mrs. Captain
Kidd. She's had hell enough without me taking her into another.
And it'd be that, sooner or later. It sure would, Mrs. Captain
Kidd. But I'm glad, mighty glad, to think she'd let me kiss her--
if I wanted to. Think of that, Mrs. Captain Kidd!--if I wanted to.
Oh, Lord!"

And the humor of it crept in alongside the tragedy in Jolly
Roger's heart, and he chuckled as he bent over his partridge
breasts.

"If I wanted to," he repeated. "Why, if I had a life to give, I'd
give it--to kiss her just once! But, as it happens, Mrs. Captain
Kidd--"

Jolly Roger's breath cut itself suddenly short, and for an instant
he grew tense as he bent over the stove. His philosophy had taught
him one thing above all others, that he was a survival of the
fittest--only so long as he survived. And he was always guarding
against the end. His brain was keen, his ears quick, and every
fibre in him trained to its duty of watchfulness. And he knew,
without turning his head, that someone was standing in the doorway
behind him. There had come a faint noise, a shadowing of the
fading sun-glow on the wall, the electrical disturbance of another
presence, gazing at him quietly, without motion, and without
sound. After that first telegraphic shock of warning he stabbed
his fork into a partridge breast, flopped it over, chuckled
loudly--and then with a lightning movement was facing the door,
his forty-four Colt leveled waist-high at the intruder.