I had but to raise my revolver, and I sent him to his account with his sins on his head.

He did not so much as know that I was there.

I did nothing--why, I hardly know to this day.
I had killed one man stealthily that night, and another by luck rather than skill--perhaps it was that.

Again, villain as the man was, I did not relish being one of a crowd against him--perhaps it was that.

But stronger than either of these restrained feelings came a curiosity and a fascination which held me spellbound, watching for the outcome of the scene.
"Michael, you dog! Michael! If you can stand, come on!" cried Rupert; and he advanced a step, the group shrinking back a little before him.
"Michael, you bastard! Come on!" The answer to his taunts came in the wild cry of a woman: "He's dead! My God, he's dead!" "Dead!" shouted Rupert.