The Edge of the Shadow
The man and woman were strangers in the land, preëmpting one of Mansfield's cabins. Their mission was a mystery for conjecture. And now the man's death was a mystery beyond it.
When Randolph inquired how the man had met his death, the woman got up, without a word, went to a cupboard in the wall, took out a dueling pistol, and handed it to him. Then, she spoke in a dreary voice:
"He was mad. 'The cause,' he said, 'must have a sacrifice of blood.'"
She looked steadily at the dead man.
"Ah, yes," she added, "he was mad!"
Then she turned about and went back to her chair in the sun before the door.
Randolph and Abner examined the weapon. It was a handsome dueling pistol, with an inlaid silver stock and a long, octagon barrel of hard, sharp-edged steel. It had been lately fired, for the exploded percussion cap was still on the nipple.
"He was a poor shot," said Randolph; "he very nearly missed."
My uncle looked closely at the dead man's wound and the burned cheek beneath it. He turned the weapon slowly in his hand, but Randolph was impatient.
"Well, Abner," he said, "did the pistol kill him, or was it the finger of God?"
"The pistol killed him," replied my uncle.
"And shall we believe the woman, eh, Abner?"
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