There was
a slight inward contraction of the grip; then it ceased.
Miraculously he felt the great hand relax and fall away. The bulk was
heaved away from him, and staggering to his own feet, he saw Bull
Hunter supported against a tree, one leg useless, one arm streaming.
"I couldn't seem to do it," said Bull Hunter thickly. "I couldn't
noways seem to do it, Reeve. You see, I sort of like you, and I
couldn't kill you, Pete."
When Pete Reeve recovered from his astonishment he said, "You can do
more. You can go home and tell that infernal hound of an uncle of
yours that you had the life of Pete Reeve under your fingertips and
that you didn't take it. It's the second time I've owed my life, and
both times in one day, and both times to one man. You tell your
uncle that!"
The big man sagged still more against the tree. "I'll never go home,
Pete, unless ghosts walk; and I'll never tell Uncle Bill anything,
unless the ghosts talk. I'm dying pretty pronto, I think, Pete.
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