arily to make sure this was not a ruse of his victim.

Some one--a woman--darted from a building opposite, flew across the
street, and dropped beside the crumpled figure. Her white skirt covered
the body like a protecting flag.

The dark eyes in the white face lifted toward Champa were full of horror,
"You murderer! You've killed little Bud Proctor!" cried the young woman.

He took an uncertain step or two toward her. Mysterious Pete knew that if
this were true, his race was run.

"Goddlemighty, Miss Snaith! I swear I thought it was Clanton. He was
drawing a gun on me."

Lee drew the boy to her bosom so that her body was between the killer and
his victim. A swift, up-blazing, maternal fury seemed to leap from her
face.

"Don't come any nearer! Don't you dare!" she cried.

The man's covert glance swept round. Already men were peering out of
doors and windows to see what the shooting was about. Soon the street
would be full of them, all full of deadly fury at him. He backed away,
snarling, cut across a vacant lot, and ran to his room. The bolt in his
door was no sooner closed than he knew it could not protect him. There
comes a time in the career of a large percentage of bad men when some
other hard citizen on behalf of the public puts a period to it. He is
wiped out, not for what he has done only, but for fear also of what he
may do. The only safety for him now was to get out of the country as fast
as a house could carry him. Instinctively Mysterious Pete recognized this
now and cursed his folly for not going straight to a corral.

If he hurried he might still make his get-away, He reloaded his revolver,
opened the door of his room, and listened. Cautiously he stole downstairs
and out the back door of the building. A little girl was playing at
keeping house in a corner of the yard. Scarcely more than a baby herself,
she was vigorously spanking a doll.

"Be dood. You better had be dood," she admonished.

A crafty idea came into the cunning brain of the outlaw. She would serve
as a protection against the bullets of his enemies. He caught her up and
carried her, kicking and screaming, while he ran to the Elephant Corral.

"Saddle me a horse. Jump!" ordered the fugitive, his revolver out.

The trembling wrangler obeyed. He did not know the cause of Mysterious
Pete's urgency fact was enough. He knew that this man with the bad record
was flying in fear of his life. Tiny sweat beads stood out on his
forehead. The f