"I wouldn't believe no dog on oath," he declared. Besides, he
preferred to blame Samson, since he was the head of the tribe and
because he himself knew what cause Samson had to hate him. Perhaps,
even now, Samson meant to have vengeance before leaving. Possibly,
even, this ostentatious care to regard the truce was simply a shrewdly
planned sham meant to disarm his suspicion.

Until Samson went, if he did go, Jesse Purvy would redouble his
caution. It would be a simple matter to have the boy shot to death, and
end all question. Samson took no precautions to safeguard his life, but
he had a safeguard none the less. Purvy felt sure that within a week
after Samson fell, despite every care he might take, he, too, would
fall. He was tired of being shot down. Purvy was growing old, and the
fires of war were burning to embers in his veins. He was becoming more
and more interested in other things.

It dawned upon him that to be
known as a friend of the poor held more allurement for gray-haired age
than to be known as a master of assassins. It would be pleasant to sit
undisturbed, and see his grandchildren grow up, and he recognized, with
a sudden ferocity of repugnance, that he did not wish them to grow up
as feud fighters. Purvy had not reformed, but, other things being
equal, he would prefer to live and let live. He had reached that stage
to which all successful villains come at some time, when he envied the
placid contentment of respected virtues. Ordering Samson shot down was
a last resort--one to be held in reserve until the end.