For some time there had been a subdued activity outside. The
singing of the boatmen had ceased, a low voice was giving
commands, and looking through the window, David saw that the
bateau was slowly swinging away from the shore. He turned from the
window to the table and lighted the cigar St. Pierre's wife had
given him.
In spite of the mental struggle he had made during the presence of
Nepapinas, he had failed to get a grip on himself. For a time he
had ceased to be David Carrigan, the man-hunter. A few days ago
his blood had run to that almost savage thrill of the great game
of one against one, the game in which Law sat on one side of the
board and Lawlessness on the other, with the cards between. It was
the great gamble. The cards meant life or death; there was never a
checkmate--one or the other had to lose. Had some one told him
then that soon he would meet the broken and twisted hulk of a man
who had known Black Roger Audemard, every nerve in him would have
thrilled in anticipation of that hour. He realized this as he
paced back and forth over the thick rugs of the bateau floor. And
he knew, even as he struggled to bring them back, that the old
thrill and the old desire were gone.
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