The Last Woman

"Mister Roderick Duncan," he drawled, in a low, even tone, "I don't savvy this business, a little bit. Just for the moment, I don't know what to make of you, or of Miss Langdon, but I am going to work it out to some sort of a conclusion; and, when I have found the answer to the questions that puzzle me now, I'll let you know."

He moved quickly toward the door, but with the lightness of a panther Duncan sprang between it and him.

"One moment, Morton," he said, coldly.

"Well, sir?"

"I have been very patient with you, and extremely considerate, I think, of your importunities and your insolence; but you try my patience almost too far. Take my advice, and don't meddle any farther in matters that do not, and cannot, concern you."

For a moment, the two men faced each other in silence, and both were angry. Duncan was not less tall than Morton, but was slighter of build, and very different--with the difference that will never cease to exist between the well-groomed thoroughbred of many experiences and the blooded young colt. Morton's wrath flamed to the surface, and, forgetting for the moment that he was not upon his native heath, that he was not dressed and accoutred as was his habit when riding the range, he reached down for the place where his holster and cartridge-belt would have been located had he been dressed in the cowboy costume of his native Montana.

It was a gesture as natural to the young ranchman as it was to breathe, and he was ashamed of it the instant it was made. He would have apologized had he been given time to do so. Indeed, he did flush hotly, in his confusion. But Duncan, quite naturally, misinterpreted the act. He thought, and with good reason, that Morton was reaching for his gun; the flush of shame on Morton's cheeks served only to strengthen the conviction. And so, with a cat-like swiftness, he took one step forward and seized the wrist of Morton's right arm, twisting it sharply and bending it backward with the same motion, whereby the ranchman was thrown away from him, and was brought up sharply against the table, in the middle of the room.

Duncan was smiling again now; but it was the smile of intense anger, and not pleasant to see. Without waiting for Morton to recover himself, Duncan calmly turned his back upon the ranchman, and threw open the door; then, stepping away from it, he said, with quiet dignity: "This is your way out, sir."