Regardless of her danger, regardless of what he would have done to
her if luck had not turned the tables, Cora McBride saw before her
only a lone man with all society's hand against him, realizing he
had played a bad game to the limit and lost, two big tears creeping
down his unshaved face, waiting for the end.
"Three children!" she whispered faintly.
"Yes."
"You're going back to see them?"
"Yes, and my mother. Mother'd help me get to Canada--somehow."
Cora McBride had forgotten all about the five thousand dollars. She
was stunned by the announcement that this man had relatives--a mother,
a wife, _three_ babies. The human factor had not before occurred to
her. Murderers! They have no license to let their eyes well with
tears, to have wives and babies, to possess mothers who will help
them get to Canada regardless of what their earthly indiscretions
may have been.
At this revelation the gun-point wavered. The sight of those tears
on his face sapped her will-power even as a wound in her breast
might have drained her life-blood.
Her great moment had been given her. She was letting it slip away.
She had her reward in her hand for the mere pulling of a trigger and
no incrimination for the result.
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