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 that purpose, never doubted it so much as now. He had heard that Russell was big and strong, yet he had not expected quite all the man he had found; and Russell, when he awoke from this stupored sleep, undoubtedly would be ugly; also he would be rested while Gregg now dared not rest. He had to sit up and watch.

There were other ways to do for Russell, Gregg could not help thinking; but only one sporting one,—one way, that was, in which Gregg Mowbry could do it, or try to do it, and live with himself afterward. If he failed, probably he wouldn't live at all, so there was no use bothering about that. Though he had said nothing to any one else about what he had taken on, he had taken it on with himself; and he wasn't going to quit. So, as the night went darker and colder, he sat beside Russell and watched him. Once Gregg felt over him, found a loaded revolver—likely the one with which Russell had shot Mr. Hale, Gregg thought—and he broke it, strewed the shells beside the track and tossed the weapon down into a river. Then, thinking of Marjorie and of Billy and of Mr. Hale and Mrs. Russell and Marjorie again—Marjorie—he sat on the floor beside Russell and waited for him to wake.