Then, like one
Who stakes his all, and has a gamester's heart,
His laughter flashed.
He lunged--I gave a start.
God! What a man!
The massive shoulders hunched, and as he ran
With head bent low, and splendid length of limb,
I almost felt the beat
Of passionate life that surged in him
And winged his spurning feet.
And then my eyes went dim.
The Marshal's gun was out.
I saw the grim
Short barrel, and his face
Aflame with the excitement of the chase.
He was an honest sportsman, as they go.
He never shot a doe,
Or spotted fawn,
Or partridge on the ground.
And, as for Joe,
He'd wait until he had a yard to go.
Then, if he missed, he'd laugh and call it square.
My gaze leapt to the corner--waited there.
And now an arm would reach it. I saw hope flare
Across the runner's face.
Then, like a pang
In my own heart,
The pistol rang.
The form I watched soared forward, spun the curve.
"By God, you've missed!"
The Marshal shook his head.
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