E

VERYBODY in the room looked up in astonishment as the sheriff made his statement. That "Brick" Evans, the best gun-man in Granite, could have been winged when he was fully prepared for trouble seemed incredible.

"Is that a fact?" asked Ripley, who stood at the bar with poised glass.

"It is," declared Sheriff Munson. "He's over at my shack now with a busted thigh. Doc's been with him ever since he got in, an' he says he dunno whether he's goin' to get well

or not.

got in this evenin' when I gets a message to be in Coyote tomorrer mornin' early to get Preston. You make me tired."

They knew that Munson wasn't just bluffing, either, for there was no better man in the camp.

"Maybe one of you men'll go? What?"

It seemed that none of them would, for no one answered.

"You know there's $500 offered for him," encouraged the sheriff.

"I'll go," came a quiet voice from the corner.

They turned quickly towards the speaker, and then grinned. It was the newcomer. No one knew his name, for during the short time he had been in camp he had kept to himself and never spoke unless spoken to. He was

"Well, you fellows remember me tellin' you about that chap stealin' a hoss over Carson way, about two months ago he got away, hoss an' all. Two weeks ago one of my men located him in a little cabin at the foot of Zimmerman's Peak whar he's been hidin', I guess, all along. The next day I sent Williams after him. That night he come home with a hole in his shoulder. Then I sent Cole, an' I ain't seen him since. Day before yesterday Brick went, an' now he's back too silly to tell anything an' liable to stay that-a-way for a month."

"Why don't you go?" asked Ripley pleasantly.

"Why don't I go?" roared the sheriff. "How am I goin' when I don't have time to eat? I ain't no sooner

heavy black beard that covered most of his face; but the steel-blue eyes that glittered from under the long lashes gave one to understand that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

"Who're you?" demanded Munson. "Wistman's my name," the other answered in the same quiet voice. "It is, is it? an' whar mought you be from?"

"New York."

The sheriff grinned. "Say, kid, I like your spunk; but this is a man's job, an' it'll take a durn good man to turn the trick, at that."

"I'm your man," said Wistman, striding up to the bar.

"Say," said Munson, his curiosity aroused, "what'd you want to go for?" "I need the money."

"A durn good reason; but this here hoss-thief's downed three of my best men."

"I won't be the fourth," answered the other calmly, and smiled. And it was that smile that won the sheriff.

"Well, I'll swar!" exclaimed that worthy, "I dunno but what you mought get him. Can you shoot?"

"I wouldn't go if I couldn't," tartly. "Well, that settles it; but you needn't get sore about it. I'll let you go on one condition, an' that is that I want either that man or your corpse."

"You shall have one or the other." "Good! Come an' take the deputys' oath."

Nobody laughed while this solemn duty was being performed, or while the sheriff was giving his new deputy a description of the place where the horse-thief lay in hiding. They pitied the boy more than anything else, for they knew that he must be hard-up indeed to undertake such a mission.

"When'll you start?" asked Munson as he finished.

"Now."

"Good! An' say, if you ain't back by tomorrow night we'll know you're down an' out, an' the whole town'll go get that devil. I'm tired of this foolin'. Have a drink before you go." "How about that five hundred?" "You get it the minute you turn that hoss-thief over to me."

"Right! Boys the drinks are on me. Bar-keep, drinks around."

They lined up to the bar and drank in silence. Every eye was turned on the new deputy. There was something magnetic about the soft voice that drew them to him; and they liked his direct way of putting things because it showed that there was force behind what he said.

When he had emptied his glass he turned to them.

"I'd like to borrow a gun. Has anybody here got an extra one?”

"A which?" sputtered Munson as the raw liquor ran down his windpipe.

"A gun."

"Boys, he ain't even got a gun," roared Ripley. "Jim"-to the barkeeper "give him a brace o' fortyfives."

"Thank you," said Wistman, as he gravely took the brace of heavy revolvers and buckled them around his waist. Then he gave his trousers a hitch and started for the door.

"Your man will be here to-morrow night, or my corpse will be out thereI can't very well bring it in." And he disappeared.

After Wistman left the saloon he hurried down to the corral to get his horse. He had some difficulty in catching the wild little pony, for he was a green hand at the game, but at last he succeeded.

Cinching the girth tight, and making sure that both his revolvers were in working order and loaded, he sprang into the saddle and headed the pinto due west.

He had much to think about as he rode along, chief among which was his present situation. He grimly wondered if he had not been a fool to undertake the task that he had set for himself a task that Granite's best men had turned down instantly. What the result would be he dared not even guess. He had no thought of turning back, however; he needed that five hundred dollars and he would get it

Two months before he had left New York and gone West in search of fortune; but, in some way, money persisted in dodging him. He now had thirteen cents in his pocket. The reward would take him back home and then some, and he determined that it would be used for that purpose if he captured it.

A jack-rabbit scampered across the path in front of him, and his hand flew to his hip. Then he smiled. He was nervous; he admitted as much to himself. But that was all; there was no fear in his heart.

About sun-down he sighted a little cabin that, by the description the sheriff had given him, he knew to be the one for which he searched. A thin curl of smoke rose from the chimney

and hung lazily about the tall peak that sheltered it.

Except for this peak there was absolutely no cover behind which the deputy might conceal himself, and he drew up his pony to plan a course of action. He knew that the safest thing to do was to wait until darkness came, and yet he was too eager to do this. He wanted to get it over with.

He took one of his revolvers from the holster and placed it in his coat pocket with a finger on the trigger. Then, with a deep breath, he touched the pinto with his spur and galloped forward.

Deep down in his heart he knew that he was doing a fool-hardy thing; but as this kind of work was new to him, he did not know how else to proceed. But of one thing he was sure: the man with whom he was dealing was a murderer as well as a horsethief, and he meant to get in the first shot if he could.

The little cabin rapidly grew larger as he galloped on. Except for the narrow line of smoke that hung about, it was devoid of all signs of habitation.

Wistman had just begun to fear that he had come too late, when the door was suddenly flung back and a man holding a rifle to his shoulder stood framed in the opening.

"Hold up there, pard!" he bawled. Wistman did. He pulled up the pinto, and with his finger trembling on the trigger of the heavy revolver in his pocket, yelled back: "Put up that gun; I want to see you."

"Nothing doing!" howled the other without moving. "Turn that horse around and clear out!"

"But I got to see you," protested the deputy faintly.

"I'll give you thirty seconds to skip!" came the answer; and Wistman pulled the trigger of his revolver.

It was instantly answered by the sharp cough of the rifle, and his pinto gave a high bound into the air and fell backwards. Wistman sprang clear and then threw himself behind the dead horse.

253

He passed his hand over his eyes and sighed. He was in for it now, he thought; but was sincerely glad that the first of it was over. His face flushed with excitement; but his hand. was as steady as steel.

Raising his revolver he took careful aim and fired again. It was promptly answered by the Winchester, and he heard the soft thud of the bullet as it buried itself in the ground beside him.

As he raised himself to fire again he exposed himself and an instant later tumbled back with a groan as a 30-30 bullet grazed his right temple. A terrible faintness came over him as the blood gushed from the ragged cut; but in a moment he was himself again. He cautiously raised his hand and emptied the revolver in the direction of the cabin. When the smoke had cleared away he saw the man advancing on him slowly. He seemed to bear a charmed life.

Wistman crouched low and waited -for what, he did not know. He tried to staunch the flow of blood from his head but could not. Still the other man came on slowly, calmly, determinedly. The rifle was clinched to his cheek ready to deal death on an instant's notice.

Wistman drew his other gun, and once more raising a cautious hand, fired. A wild yell of pain fell sweetly on his ears and he saw the man fall. The throbbing in his head was forgotten as he sprang to his feet with a great hope in his heart-just in time to meet a ball of lead that tore its way through his chest. Without a sound he fell and lay still. He felt no pain; his body was numb. Then he choked as the blood filled his mouth. He wondered dully if he was going to die, and if he had killed the other man. After a while he closed his eyes. He was not sleepy, but his brain was cloudy and he wanted to think.

How long he laid there he did not know, but hearing a movement beside him he opened his eyes and looked up. He stared at the man above him fascinated. It was as if he was gazing