"I mean what I say," Warren replied, fast losing control over himself.
Pulling out his revolver, he covered Donald, and commanded him to
surrender.

About a dozen people watched the scene in front of the hotel, chained to
the spot with a species of horrible fascination.

The moment that Donald saw Warren pull out his revolver, and cover
him with it, he clenched his teeth with a deadly determination, and,
whipping out his own weapon, and taking steady aim, he fired.

Warren, with his pistol at full cock in his hand, fell back--dead!

The bullet had entered the brain through the temple.

Donald bent over him, saw that he was dead, and, muttering between his
teeth, "It was either my life or his," walked down the street out of
sight.

Warren lay in a pool of blood, a ghastly spectacle. Some poor mother had
once held this man to her breast, and shed tears of joy or sorrow over
him!




CHAPTER XX.

AFTERWARDS.