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Riggs could not draw nor move nor speak He seemed turned to stone, except his jahich slowly fell

"Harve Riggs, gunman from down Missouri way," continued the voice of incalculable intent, "reckon you've looked into a heap of gun-barrels in your day Shore! Wal, look in this heah one!"

Wilson deliberately leveled the gun on a line with Riggs's starting eyes

"Wasn't you heard to brag in Turner's saloon--thet you could see lead coe it? Shore you un spouted flaht one--went out, like a lamp The other rolled horribly, then set in blank dead fixedness Riggs swayed in slow motion until a lost balance felled him heavily, an inert e, violent contrast to the cool scorn of the preceding , as if poisoned by passion, he burst with the hate that his character had forbidden hi counterfeit Wilson was shaken, as if by a palsy He choked over passionate, incoherent invective It was class hate first, then the hate of real race for a hter in the Western creed of an "even break"!

Wilson's terrible cataclys up, he sheathed his weapon and began a slow pace before the fire Not h and listened Horses were softly thudding through the forest Soon Anson rode into sight with hisBurt appeared on the other side of the glade He walked quickly, as one who anticipated news

Snake Anson as he disht I heard a shot"

The others exclaimed and leaped off their horses to view the prostrate fore fear coht of sudden death

That emotion was only momentary

"Shot his las liked thet pluh

"Back of his head all gone!" gasped young Burt Not ireat -haired fool didn't try to draw on you!" exclaimed Snake Anson, astounded

Wilson neither spoke nor ceased his pacing

"What was it over?" added Anson, curiously

"He hit the gurl," replied Wilson