you feel like saying some?"

Murray's reply came without hesitation.

"Why, sure," he replied. "All I know."

Neither by look, nor tone, did his manner convey his dislike. His
smile was amiability itself. Yet under it his feelings were bitter.

He stooped abruptly and groped in a small cupboard beside his desk. A
moment later he set a whisky bottle and two glasses in front of him,
and pushed one of the latter towards his visitor. Then he reached the
water carafe and set it beside them.

"It's Scotch," he said invitingly.

"Thanks."

Kars helped himself and watered it down considerably.

"It needs strong water in the stomach of the feller who's got to raise
the ghosts of Bell River. Gee, the thought makes me weaken."

Murray's smile had vanished. He had by no means exaggerated his
feelings. The truth of his words was in his mysterious eyes. It was
in the eagerness of his action in raising the glass of spirit to his
lips. Kars watched him gulp down his drink thirstily. The sight of it
prepared him. He felt that he had done more than well in thus delaying
all reference to the murder of Allan Mowbray. If this were its effect
on Murray, what would it have been on Jessie, or her mother?

The glasses were set back on the desk in silence. Kars had something
of the waiting attitude of a great watchful dog. He permitted no word
or action of his to urge the man before him. He wanted the story in
Murray's own way, and his own time. His own reasons for requesting it
were--his own.

"It's an ugly story," Murray announced, his eyes regarding his
companion with a stare that passed through, and traveled far beyond
him. "I don't just see where to start." He stirred in his chair with
a nervous movement. "Allan was a pretty big man. I guess his nerve
was never really all out, even in this hellish country. It was as
strong as chilled steel. It was a nerve that left danger hollerin'
help. He didn't know fear--which isn't good in this land. You need to
know fear if you're to win out. There's times in this latitude you
need to be scared--badly scared--if you're to make good all the time."

Kars nodded.

"I'm scared most all the time."

Murray's eyes became alert. A shadow of his smile returned to his
lips. It was gone again in a second. He replenished his glass and
produced cigars. Both men helped themselves, and, in a moment, the
fragrant smoke clouded about the globe of the oil lamp.

"Allan