Whatever he saw, or whatever he did not see,
exercised a very peculiar effect upon him, considering his neurotic
temperament. He glanced at the sleeping man on the floor, let the lid
down gently, and rolled over on his back. It was an unwonted calm that
rested on his face. Not a muscle quivered. There was not the least sign
of excitement or perturbation. He lay there a long while, thinking, and
when he got up and began to move about, it was in a cool, collected
manner, without noise and without hurry.
It happened that a heavy wooden peg had been driven into the ridge-pole
just above Jim Cardegee's head. Jacob Kent, working softly, ran a piece
of half-inch manila over it, bringing both ends to the ground. One end
he tied about his waist, and in the other he rove a running noose. Then
he cocked his shotgun and laid it within reach, by the side of numerous
moose-hide thongs. By an effort of will he bore the sight of the scar,
slipped the noose over the sleeper's head, and drew it taut by throwing
back on his weight, at the same time seizing the gun and bringing it to
bear.
Jim Cardegee awoke, choking, bewildered, staring down the twin wells of
steel.
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