"

The ranchman spoke rapidly. For the moment at least his weakness
seemed to have passed, and the weariness to have gone out of his eyes
and voice. He strained eagerly, his eyes alight and bloodshot. The
whisky had given him momentary courage, momentary strength; the drawn
lines of rapidly draining life had smoothed out of his young cheeks.

"Here, listen," he cried, almost fiercely. "I'm beat. I know. But--but
I want to tell you things. You needn't to notice that hole in my
back." He writhed painfully. "Guess they--they got my lung or--or
somethin'. Y'see, it's the James gang. Some of 'em are"--a spasm of
pain shot athwart his face as he hesitated--"'bout three miles back
ther'--"

At this point a terrible fit of coughing interrupted him, and blood
trickled into the corners of his mouth. Minky understood. He
dispatched one of the bystanders for some brandy, while he knelt down
to the man's support. At once the drooping body sagged heavily upon
his arm; but when the paroxysm had passed the weight lightened, and
the dying man hurried on with his story, although his voice had lost
more than half of its former ring.

"Ther' ain't much time," he said, with something like a gasp. "He's
run off my stock, an' set my hay an' the corrals afire. He--he got us
when we was roundin'--roundin' up a bunch o' steers. Y'see--y'see, we
was in--in the saddle."

Again he paused. This time his breath came in gasps and deep-throated
gurglings. He struggled on, however, stumbling and gasping with almost
every second word.

"We put up a--scrap--good. An'--an' both--my boys was--was dropped
cold. After I--I emptied--my gun--I--I hit--the trail for here. Then
I--got it good. Say--"

Once more he was interrupted by a fit of terrible coughing. And the
moment it eased the storekeeper held the brandy, which one of the boys
had brought, to his blood-flecked lips. The poor fellow's end was not
far off. The onlookers knew it. Minky knew there was practically
nothing to be done for him. All these men had witnessed the approach
of death in this form too often before. A lung pierced by a bullet!
They could do nothing but look on curiously, helplessly and listen
carefully to the story he was trying to tell.

The man struggled with himself for some moments. The strong young body
was yielding reluctantly enough to the death-grip. And at last his
words gasped haltingly upon the still air.

"Their plugs--wasn't--fresh. Mine--was. That give--me--th