elt her
fascination dangerous, yet it was so delightful that he did not mind the
danger.

Thinking of Bessie, he finally fell asleep and dreamed of her. On the
bed he tossed restlessly, murmuring her name. He seemed to see her near
at hand, yet gliding away before him as he vainly sought to overtake
her. She turned her bewitching face and smiled at him alluringly.
Desperately he strove to reach her, but always she kept just beyond his
grasp. Yet she beckoned him on with her smile and with her hypnotic
eyes. Finally, in mad desperation, he made one last great leap and
seized her. He had her now! She was his! She could not get away! In that
moment of triumph a marvelous metamorphosis took place, and as his arm
bound her to his side he beheld her transformed into a boy. She was no
longer Bessie, but young Tom King, reckless, taunting, derisive, and
mocking.

In that mysterious way of dreams, he now beheld himself gazing down upon
a dying man, who lay stretched upon the ground, a bullet having passed
through his body. He knew the man. It was Colonel King, the cattle
rustler, who had carried on his criminal work disguised as Laramie Dave.
There were other men standing about--armed men. The sheriff was there
with his posse. At last, through the revelation and information
furnished by Frank Merriwell, this cattle stealer had been captured and
shot. And now he was gasping his life away, and soon his stain-spotted
soul would stand naked before the judgment bar above.

Through his dream--if dream it was--a voice sounded, cutting him to the
heart. That voice cried, "You have killed him, you devils!" Then young
Tom King threw himself on his father's prostrate body, weeping bitterly.
Carson attempted to lift the boy, but once more before his eyes a change
took place, and Tom King became Lizette, the French nurse.

He awoke, shaking in every limb, with cold perspiration on his face.

"Did I dream," he hoarsely muttered, "or did I live the past over
again?"

There was no more sleep for him. He rose and went to the window. The
cool night beckoned to him. The soft moon smiled at him. The whispering
leaves said, "Come out, come out."

Carson dressed, softly descended the stairs, and left the house.

He filled his lungs and stretched his arms. The moon had mounted into
the eastern sky, and there were deep shadows beneath the trees. The
restless young man walked amid those shadows.

Suddenly he paused, startled by the sound of v