top to pick flowers.

* * * * *

Washing day after supper.

We weren't more than half-way down to the river when we heard Trevor
surging and yelling astern, somewheres up on the bench. At that I broke
to a trot, telling the lady to let out a howl the moment it hurt beyond
bearing. I wonder what amount of pain is beyond the bearing of real
thoroughbreds? That lady would burn before she'd even whimper.

Nearing the ferry my innards went sick, for the punt was on the far
bank, the man was out of sight, and even Jones wouldn't propose to swim
the river with a cargo of mineral and a deck load. As we got to the door
of Brown's cabin, Trevor hove in sight.

Now, supposing you're poor in the matter of time, with, say, half a
minute to invest to the best advantage, you try to lay out your thirty
seconds where they will do most good. I lep' to the ground, giving Jones
a hearty slap on the off quarter, which would steer her behind Brown's
cabin; then with one jump I grabbed old man Brown's Winchester rifle
from its slings above the hearth, shoved home two cartridges from the
mantel, rammed the muzzle through the window-pane, which commands a view
up the trail, and proceeded to take stock of Mr. Trevor.

The man's eyes being stark staring mad, it was a sure fact he'd never
listen to argument. If I shot him, the horse would surge on, dropping
the corpse at Mrs. Trevor's feet, which would be too sudden to please.
If I stopped the horse at full gallop, the rider would go on till he hit
the scenery, and after that he wouldn't feel well enough to be
injurious. That's why I waited, following with the rifle until the
horse's shoulder widened out, giving me a clear aim at the heart.

The horse finished his stride, but while I was running to the door, he
crumpled and went down dead, the carcass sliding three yards before it
stopped. As to the man, he shot a long curve down on his back in a
splash of dust, which looked like a brown explosion. His revolver went
further on whirling, until a stump touched off the trigger, and its
bullet whined over my head.

Next thing I heard was the rapids, like a church organ finishing a hymn,
and Mrs. Trevor's call.

"You've killed him?"

"No, ma'am, but he's had an accident. I'll take him to the cabin for
first aid."

Trevor was sitting up by the time I reached him. He looked sort of sick.

"Get up," said I, remembering to be polite in the presence of a lady.
"