morning."

Mundy's name did not appear in the note. Mundy was at the time twenty
miles from Valley City. But Mr. Crawford's name was there, and after
it was "_Urgent_," underlined. The note itself ran:

"_Wallace is here to arrest Conniston for murder of Chinaman
shot in whisky rebellion! A put-up game with Swinnerton to
stop his work. Tell Conniston to go back to Deep Creek
to-night. Send Brayley to me immediately. Let no one else
come. I'll entertain the sheriff to-night._

"GARTON."

Billy loitered a minute, yawned two or three times, and finally said
good night and strolled leisurely away.

"I think," said Wallace, rising as the door closed behind Billy
Jordan, "I'll go out an' unsaddle my cayuse. Got a handful of hay in
the shed, Tommy?"

"Sure thing, Bill. Help yourself."

Wallace picked up his hat and turned to the door. Garton rolled over
suddenly, thrust his hand again under his pillow, and sat up.

"Say, Bill!" he called, softly.

Wallace turned, and as he did so he looked square into the muzzle of a
heavy-caliber Colt revolver upon which the lamplight shone dully.

"Stop that!" cried Garton, sternly, as the sheriff's hand started
automatically to his hip. "I've got the drop on you, Bill. And,
sheriff or no sheriff, I'll drop you if you make a move. Put 'em up,
Bill."

Snarling, his face going a sudden angry red, the sheriff lifted his
two big hands high above his head.

"What do you mean by this?" he snapped.

"I mean business! Now you do what I tell you. Walk this way, and walk
slowly."

"D----n you, you little sawed-off--" roared the big man, only to be
cut short with an incisive:

"Never mind about calling names. And remember that no matter if only
half a man is behind this gun it 'll shoot just the same. Keep those
hands up, Bill! Now turn around. Back up to me. And let me tell you
something: you can whirl about and bring your hands down on my head,
but that won't stop a bullet in your belly. The same place," he said,
coolly, "that Conniston shot the Chinaman!"

Bill Wallace had got his position as sheriff for two very good
reasons. For one thing, he belonged to Oliver Swinnerton. For another,
he was a brave man. But he was not a fool, and he did what Garton
commanded him to do. And Tommy Garton, with the muzzle of his revolver
jammed tight against the small of Wallace's back, reached out with his
left hand and drew the sheriff's two revolvers from thei