nt of passing behind him.
Both men started as recognition lighted their faces and he of the red
face found himself looking down the barrel of a six-shooter.

"Put it up, Byrne," he admonished the other coolly. "I didn't know you
were so good on the draw."

"I'm good on the draw all right, Flannagan," said Billy, "and I ain't
drawin' for amusement neither. I gotta chance to get away and live
straight, and have a little happiness in life, and, Flannagan, the man
who tries to crab my game is goin' to get himself croaked. I'll never go
back to stir alive. See?"

"Yep," said Flannagan, "I see; but I ain't tryin' to crab your game. I
ain't down here after you this trip. Where you been, anyway, that you
don't know the war's over? Why Coke Sheehan confessed a month ago that
it was him that croaked Schneider, and the governor pardoned you about
ten days ago."

"You stringin' me?" asked Billy, a vicious glint in his eyes.

"On the level," Flannagan assured him. "Wait, I gotta clippin' from the
Trib in my clothes somewheres that gives all the dope."

He drew some papers from his coat pocket and handed one to Billy.

"Turn your back and hold up your hands while I read," said Byrne, and as
Flannagan did as he was bid Billy unfolded the soiled bit of newspaper
and read that which set him a-trembling with nervous excitement.

A moment later Detective Sergeant Flannagan ventured a rearward glance
to note how Byrne was receiving the joyful tidings which the newspaper
article contained.

"Well, I'll be!" ejaculated the sleuth, for Billy Byrne was already
a hundred yards away and breaking all records in his dash for the
sitting-room he had quitted but a few minutes before.

It was a happy and contented trio who took the train the following day
on their way back to New York City after bidding Bridge good-bye in the
improvised hospital and exacting his promise that he would visit them in
New York in the near future.

It was a month later; spring was filling the southland with new, sweet
life. The joy of living was reflected in the song of birds and the
opening of buds. Beside a slow-moving stream a man squatted before a
tiny fire. A battered tin can, half filled with water stood close to the
burning embers. Upon a sharpened stick the man roasted a bit of meat,
and as he watched it curling at the edges as the flame licked it he
spoke aloud though there was none to hear:

Just for a con I'd like to know (yes, he crossed over