That must not be.
Joe was too fine a fellow to end like this--like this!

Lem Keith was shuddering from head to foot, and his lips were stiff and
blue, yet there was an odd, masterful ring in his voice as he cried,
"Make haste, will you, and shoot!"

A shot rang out, and Lem fell, pierced, not by Bub Quinn's bullet, but
by the living horror of death. On the furrows beside him Bub Quinn lay
stretched, with blood oozing from his right shoulder.

That shot of Joe Keith's, as his pony tore across the plowed field, was
long talked of on the prairie. The echo was still ringing in his ears
when he sprang to the ground, and knelt beside his brother, searching
for a wound. He could find none. He pressed his hand to Lem's heart; his
own pulse was pounding so that he could feel no other motion. He lifted
his brother's head and laid it against his own breast; he loosened his
shirt and chafed his hands. The sun shone straight into the white face,
and the eyelids moved.

"Lem! Dear old pal! Speak! Do speak!"

Lem's consciousness returned slowly, reluctantly; but he knew his
brother's voice.

"Joe!" he muttered; "Joe!"

He made an effort to look about him; and first his eyes followed vaguely
the wanderings of Quinn's bronco, which had strayed far afield, and he
strove feebly to account for the pang that the sight gave him. Suddenly
his consciousness adjusted itself, as a lock falls into place. He turned
his eyes on Quinn, lying where he had fallen, the blood still flowing
from his wound; and then he knew that he himself had only swooned.

He sat upright, clasping his knees with his two hands, and Joe stood
over him, tenderly brushing the earth from his shoulder. At last Lem
spoke, while a dark flush mounted slowly up into his temples.

"Joe!" he said, "I'm not hurt. You may as well despise me. I _am_ a
coward."

A look went across Joe's face, half-assenting, half-indulgent.

"Never mind, old boy," he said, with patronizing good-will; "we can't
all be cut after the same pattern."

He extended his hand to help his brother to his feet. A movement caused
him to turn. Quinn had gathered strength to speak. He was leaning on his
left elbow, staring at the two brothers. His face was ghastly, but his
voice had lost none of its drawling scorn as he said to Joe, slowly and
distinctly, "You in-fernal idiot!"

Then a great light broke in upon Joe Keith's mind, and he knew the
truth.

V.

THE RUMPETY CASE.

When Sandor