e found it drifting
whithersoever it chose. It passed from Eve to the saloon, to the money
he required to help him pass the evening, to a dozen and one things,
and finally settled itself upon the one subject he would rather have
avoided. It focused itself upon Jim Thorpe, and, try as he would to
break away from this thrall, it clung tenaciously.

He could not get away from Eve's spoken sympathy for Jim, and every
word he recollected stung him poisonously. His regard for Jim was of
the frailest texture. He had always regarded him as something
inevitable in his life, and that was all. Nor was he to be considered
in the least where his own desires were concerned. Yet he cursed that
shooting match. He cursed himself for going to see Jim at all. Why had
he not gone to Eve in the first place? Then he promptly reassured
himself that he had only gone to Jim out of a sense of honor. Yes, it
was that shooting match. Jim had forced it on him. That was it. It was
wholly Jim's fault. How was he to know he was going to lose? There was
no doubt that Jim was a fine shot, but so was he.

Then through his brain flashed another thought. Maybe it had
inspiration in the thought of Jim's shooting. What would happen when
he met Jim, as, sooner or later, he knew he must? What would Jim's
attitude be? He frowned heavily. This had not occurred to him before.
Would there be trouble? Well, if there were it might be easier, at
least less complicated. On the other hand, what else could Jim do? It
was uncomfortably puzzling. His own disposition made it impossible for
him to probe the possibilities of such a nature as Jim's.

He could not answer his question, and it left him with a feeling of
apprehension which no prospect of violence could have inspired in
him. He told himself he was sorry, regretted the whole occurrence, but
there was less truth in his mental apology than in the feelings which
his thoughts had inspired. Though in his heart he knew he had done
wrong, he had acted with the grossest dishonor toward Jim, he would
not admit it; consequently he experienced the nervous apprehension
which every wrong-doer, however hardened, always feels at the thought
of being confronted with his crime.

By the time he reached his hut he was in a bad mood. He not only
rebelled against the worry of his thought, but wanted to vent his
feelings. He probably hated Jim just then, and a meeting with him at
that moment would undoubtedly have provoked a quarrel