to them. You can divide things equally between them.

"And in conclusion you can tell Zip if he can do a good turn,
which I don't suppose he'll be able to, to either Sunny Oak, or
Sandy Joyce, or Toby Jenks, he'd best do it. Because he owes them
something he'll probably never hear about.

"This is the last will and testament, as the lawyers say, of

"Your old friend,
"Wild Bill.
"(A no-account gambler, late of Abilene.)"

Minky looked up from the letter again, and his eyes were shadowed. He
felt that that letter contained more of the gambler's heart than he
would ever have allowed himself to display in life.

And into his mind came many memories--memories that stirred him
deeply. He was thinking of the days when he had first encountered Bill
years ago, when the name of Wild Bill was a terror throughout Texas
and the neighboring States. And he smiled as he remembered how a
perturbed Government had been forced, for their own peace of mind, and
for the sake of the peace of the country, to put this "terror" on the
side of law and order, and make him a sheriff of the county. And then,
too, he remembered the trouble Bill was always getting into through
mixing up his private feuds with his public duties. Still, he was a
great sheriff, and never was such order kept in the county.

He turned again to the man at his side.

"An' he got thro' with the gold?" he inquired slowly.

"Jest as I sed," retorted the weary messenger. "Guess I helped sheriff
to deposit it in the bank."

"And he's dead?"

The man stirred impatiently and spat.

"Dead--as mutton."

Minky sighed.

"An' you come along the Spawn City trail?" he asked presently.

"I ain't got wings."

"An' you saw--?"

"The birds flappin' around--nigh chokin' with human meat."

The man laughed cynically.

"Did you recognize--?"

"I see James. He was dead--as mutton, too--an' all his gang. Gee! It
must 'a' bin a hell of a scrap."

The man spat out a stream of tobacco juice and rubbed his hands.

"It sure must," agreed Minky. And he passed into the store.

* * * * *

It was dark when Scipio urged the old mule up the bank at the fork of
the creek. He was very weary, and Jessie was asleep beside him, with
her head pillowed upon his shoulder. His arm was about her, supporting
her, a