s well.

"Will somebody go home with the body?" he asked. Gethings stepped
forward and took his place by the driver. The carry-all drove away.

Presley reentered the house. During his absence it had been cleared of
all but one or two of the Leaguers, who had taken part in the fight.
Hilma still sat on the bed with Annixter's head in her lap. S. Behrman,
Ruggles, and all the railroad party had gone. Osterman had been taken
away in a hack and the tablecloth over Dabney's body replaced with
a sheet. But still unabated, agonised, raucous, came the sounds of
Harran's breathing. Everything possible had already been done. For the
moment it was out of the question to attempt to move him. His mother and
father were at his side, Magnus, with a face of stone, his look fixed on
those persistently twitching eyes, Annie Derrick crouching at her son's
side, one of his hands in hers, fanning his face continually with the
crumpled sheet of an old newspaper.

Presley on tip-toes joined the group, looking on attentively. One of the
surgeons who had been called from Bonneville stood close by, watching
Harran's face, his arms folded.

"How is he?" Presley whispered.

"He won't live," the other responded.

By degrees the choke and gurgle of the breathing became more irregular
and the lids closed over the twitching eyes. All at once the breath
ceased. Magnus shot an inquiring glance at the surgeon.

"He is dead, Mr. Derrick," the surgeon replied.

Annie Derrick, with a cry that rang through all the house, stretched
herself over the body of her son, her head upon his breast, and the
Governor's great shoulders bowed never to rise again.

"God help me and forgive me," he groaned.

Presley rushed from the house, beside himself with grief, with horror,
with pity, and with mad, insensate rage. On the porch outside Caraher
met him.

"Is he--is he--" began the saloon-keeper.

"Yes, he's dead," cried Presley. "They're all dead, murdered, shot down,
dead, dead, all of them. Whose turn is next?"

"That's the way they killed my wife, Presley."

"Caraher," cried Presley, "give me your hand. I've been wrong all the
time. The League is wrong. All the world is wrong. You are the only one
of us all who is right. I'm with you from now on. BY GOD, I TOO, I'M A
RED!"

In course of time, a farm wagon from Bonneville arrived at Hooven's. The
bodies of Annixter and Harran were placed in it, and it drove down the
Lower Road towards the Los Muertos