let Baal plead
against him, because he hath thrown down his altar."

"That's too long a word for me to remember, Mr. Gib, so by your leave
I'll call you as you were christened."

I had forced myself to a slow coolness, and my voice seemed to madden
him.

"Ye would outface me," he cried. "I see ye are an idolater from the
tents of Shem, on whom judgment will be speedy and surprising. Know ye
not what the Lord hath prepared for ye? Down in your proud cities ye
are feasting and dicing and smiling on your paramours, but the writing
is on the wall, and in a little ye will be crying like weaned bairns
for a refuge against the storm of God. Your strong men shall be slain,
and your virgins shall be led captive, and your little children shall
be dashed against a stone. And in the midst of your ruins I, even I,
will raise a temple to the God of Israel, and nations that know me not
will run unto me because of the Lord my God."

I had determined on my part, and played it calmly.

"And what will you do with your Indian braves?" I asked.

"Sharon shall be a fold of flocks, and the valley of Achor a place to
lie down in, for my people that have sought me," he answered.

"A bonny spectacle," I said. "Man, if you dare to cross the Border you
will be whipped at a cart-tail and clapped into Bedlam as a crazy
vagabond."

"Blasphemer," he shrieked, and ran at me with the knife he had used on
the panther.

It took all my courage to play my game. I stood motionless, looking at
him, and his head fell. Had I moved he would have struck, but to his
mad eyes my calmness was terrifying.

"It sticks in my mind," I said, "that there is a commandment, Do no
murder. You call yourself a follower of the Lord. Let me tell you that
you are no more than a bloody-minded savage, a thousandfold more guilty
than those poor creatures you are leading astray. You serve Baal, not
God, John Gib, and the devil in hell is banking his fires and counting
on your company."

He gibbered at me like a bedlamite, but I knew what I was doing. I
raised my voice, and spoke loud and clear, while my eyes held his in
that yellow dusk.

"Priest of Baal," I cried, "lying prophet! Go down on your knees and
pray for mercy. By the living God, the flames of hell are waiting for
you. The lightnings tremble in the clouds to scorch you up and send
your black soul to its own place."

His hands pawed at my throat, but the horror was descending on him. He
shrieked like a wil