replied; and picking up an empty glass, he hurled it at Red George. The
by-standers sprang aside, and in a moment the two men were facing each
other with outstretched pistols. The two reports rung out
simultaneously: Red George sat down unconcernedly with a streak of blood
flowing down his face, where the bullet had cut a furrow in his cheek;
the stranger fell back with the bullet hole in the centre of his
forehead.

The body was carried outside, and the play continued as if no
interruption had taken place. They were accustomed to such occurrences
in Pine-tree Gulch, and the piece of ground at the top of the hill, that
had been set aside as a burial place, was already dotted thickly with
graves, filled in almost every instance by men who had died, in the
local phraseology, "with their boots on."

Neither then nor afterwards did Red George allude to the subject to
Dick, whose life after this signal instance of his championship was
easier than it had hitherto been, for there were few in Pine-tree Gulch
who cared to excite Red George's anger; and strangers going to the
place were sure to receive a friendly warning that it was best for their
health to keep their tempers over any shortcomings on the part of
White-faced Dick.

Grateful as he was for Red George's interference on his behalf, Dick
felt the circumstance which had ensued more than anyone else in the
camp. With others it was the subject of five minutes' talk, but Dick
could not get out of his head the thought of the dead man's face as he
fell back. He had seen many such frays before, but he was too full of
his own troubles for them to make much impression upon him. But in the
present case he felt as if he himself was responsible for the death of
the gambler; if he had not blundered this would not have happened. He
wondered whether the dead man had a wife and children, and, if so, were
they expecting his return? Would they ever hear where he had died, and
how?

But this feeling, which, tired out as he was when the time came for
closing the bar, often prevented him from sleeping for hours, in no way
lessened his gratitude and devotion towards Red George, and he felt
that he could die willingly if his life would benefit his champion.
Sometimes he thought, too, that his life would not be much to give, for
in spite of shelter and food, the cough which he had caught while
working in the water still clung to him, and, as his employer said to
him angrily one day--