He meant ruin to a man. He meant more than ruin. He meant to destroy what his
enemy, his rival loved. The darkness all about him, the gloom and sinister
shadow of the canyon, the sullen increasing roar of the' river--these lent
their influence to the deed, encouraged him, drove him onward, fought and
strangled the resistance in his heart. As he brooded all the motives for the
deed grew like that remorseless river. Had not his enemy's son shot at him
from ambush? Was not his very life at stake? A terrible blow must be dealt
Creech, one that would crush him or else lend him manhood enough to come forth
with a gun. Bostil, in his torment, divined that Creech would know who had
ruined him. They would meet then, as Bostil had tried more than once to bring
about a meeting. Bostil saw into his soul, and it was a gulf like this canyon
pit where the dark and sullen river raged. He shrank at what he saw, but the
furies of passion held him fast. His hands tore at the cables. Then he fell to
pacing to and fro in the gloom. Every moment the river changed its voice.
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