nto the gully now. The walls on either hand
towered far above their heads. He halted, and the mare stood still,
again blowing softly through her nostrils.

The old man, with shaking hands, took from under his coat the heavy
article that had sagged his pocket. It was a black, old-fashioned,
seven-chambered revolver, well oiled and as grim-looking as a rifled
cannon on a battleship. He produced three greased cartridges, broke
the weapon, inserted the cartridges, then closed it and spun the
cylinder. It was not an unfamiliar weapon, this. Its mere grim
appearance, stuck into Cap'n Ira's waistband, had once quelled
mutiny aboard the _Susan Gatskill_.

While he was thus engaged he had not even glanced around at the old
mare. Suddenly he felt a touch upon his shoulder, then upon the
sleeve of his coat. He felt a creepy chill the length of his spine.
It seemed as if the hand of Prudence had been laid softly upon him.

"I swan!" he gulped, shaking himself. "I'm as flighty as a gal. What
th'--" He looked back. Queenie was nuzzling his arm questioningly.
Her ears were cocked forward; her surprised face was almost
ridiculously human in its expression.

Cap'n Ira groaned again. He shuddered. But his gnarled hand gripped
the hard-rubber butt of the revolver with the desperation of the
deed he had screwed his courage to do. Better the old mare should be
put out of the way than that she should fall into hands that would
misuse her. And he feared what other accident might happen if
Prudence continued to take care of the animal.

"I swan! It's a wrench," admitted Cap'n Ira, swerving to point the
muzzle of the revolver at the gray mare.

He looked all about again. Yes, the position was right. If she fell
here, a man with a shovel could easily pry down tons of sand from
either bank upon her in a few minutes. The burial might be done by
himself without any other soul knowing what had become of Queenie.

He cocked the old revolver.

Suddenly the Queen of Sheba gave a snort of alarm. She looked back
over her withers. The light in the cut between the sand banks was
dim. Was somebody coming?

To tell the truth, Cap'n Ira had a vision of Prudence, having missed
him, getting out of her bed and traveling down through the lots
after him and the old mare. The idea shook him to his marrow, or was
it the weight of the heavy weapon that made his hand so unsteady?

"I swan!" His oft-repeated ejaculation was almost a prayer.

At the moment