Philip, with a perceptible sneer in his voice.
"You're trying to work upon my sympathy so that I will follow your
suggestion--and go back. Eh?"

"You'd be a coward if you did that," retorted DeBar quickly. "How are we
going to settle it, Phil?"

Philip drew his frozen revolver from its holster and held it over the
stove.

"If I wasn't a crack shot, and couldn't center a two-inch bull's-eye
three times out of four at thirty paces, I'd say pistols."

"I can't do that," said DeBar unhesitatingly, "but I have hit a wolf
twice out of five shots. It'll be a quick, easy way, and we'll settle it
with our revolvers. Going to shoot to kill?"

"No, if I can help it. In the excitement a shot may kill, but I want to
take you back alive, so I'll wing you once or twice first."

"I always shoot to kill," replied DeBar, without lifting his head. "Any
word you'd like to have sent home, Phil?"

In the other's silence DeBar looked up.

"I mean it," he said, in a low earnest voice. "Even from your point
of view it might happen, Phil, and you've got friends somewhere. It
anything should happen to me you'll find a letter in my pocket. I want
you to write to--to her--an' tell her I died in--an accident. Will you?"

"Yes," replied Philip. "As for me, you'll find addresses in my pocket,
too. Let's shake!"

Over the stove they gripped hands.

"My eyes hurt," said DeBar. "It's the snow and wind, I guess. Do you
mind a little sleep--after we eat? I haven't slept a wink in three days
and nights."

"Sleep until you're ready," urged Philip. "I don't want to fight bad
eyes."

They ate, mostly in silence, and when the meal was done Philip carefully
cleaned his revolver and oiled it with bear grease, which he found in a
bottle on the shelf.

DeBar watched him as he wiped his weapon and saw that Philip lubricated
each of the five cartridges which he put in the chamber.

Afterward they smoked.

Then DeBar stretched himself out in one of the two bunks, and his heavy
breathing soon gave evidence that he was sleeping.

For a time Philip sat beside the stove, his eyes upon the inanimate
form of the outlaw. Drowsiness overcame him then, and he rolled into
the other bunk. He was awakened several hours later by DeBar, who was
filling the stove with wood.

"How's the eyes?" he asked, sitting up.

"Good," said the other. "Glad you're awake. The light will be bad inside
of an hour."

He was rubbing and warming his hands, and Philip came t