s of tone. "I reckon ye knows what hit means ter hold a
bitter hate--I've done read thet much in yore face, but I holds a
deeper an' blacker hate then ye ever dreamt of--an' I've done put hit
aside--fer a reason thet meant more ter me then _hit_ did."

Through the excitement that made the other's chest heave Turner
recognized a bewildered curiosity and he went on.

"I hain't never stood by afore an' suffered no man ter give me names
like you've jest called me. I reckon I won't hardly never do hit
ergin--but I owes ye gratitude fer last night an' I'm goin' ter owe ye
more. Ye hain't a-goin' ter lay-way Kinnard Towers this night, Dog.
Ye're a-goin' along with me ter do what I bids ye."

"Like hell I am!" snarled Tate, though in the next breath, without
realizing the anti-climax of his question, he added, "Why am I?"

"Because I've got a bigger aim then sneakin' murders an' I aims ter hev
men like you holp me. Because when we finishes our job yore children
air goin' ter dwell in safety." He talked on fervently and despite
himself the man with his finger on the trigger listened.

It all seemed very fantastic and radical to Dog Tate, yet there was
such a hypnotic power in the voice and manner that he lowered his
cocked rifle.

"Bear Cat," he said with a sort of bewilderment, "thet talk sounds
powerful flighty ter me, but if ye air outen yer right mind I reckon I
kain't kill ye--an' ef thar's a solitary grain of sense in what ye says
God knows I'd like ter hev ye show hit ter me."

The shadows lengthened across the valleys and the peaks grew cloudily
somber as Bear Cat Stacy talked. He was trying for his first convert
and his soul went into his persuasiveness. He had himself done first
what he asked of others. His still was destroyed for a bigger aim. It
was a new and more effective warfare which required certain sacrifices.

A slow grin of sardonic amusement spread eventually over the face of
Dog Tate. He put down his rifle.

"Then ye means thet hit hain't a-goin' ter be jest preachin'? Kinnard
hain't goin' ter escape scot-free? Because I've always figgered he
belonged ter me."

"So many men figgers thet," retorted Stacy dryly, "thet in ther time of
final reckonin' thar won't be enough of him ter go round. I aims ter
hang him in Marlin Town, with his own jedge passin' sentence on him."

Dog Tate drew a clay pipe from his pocket and kindled it. His eyes
glowed with a pleasurable anticipation.

"Wa'al, now, es te