the
boy, and make him confess to Hope the truth. Matters had now reached a
point where longer delay was dangerous.

Sheridan was seemingly dead, the long street silent, gloomy, black,
except for those streams of saloon light shining across pools of water.
He stumbled over the irregular ground, occasionally striking patches of
wooden sidewalk or a strip of cinders. Here and there a tent flapped
in the wind, which drove the drizzle into his face; somewhere ahead a
swinging sign moaned as if in agony. A few wanderers ploughed through
the muck, dim uncertain shapes appearing and vanishing in the gloom. He
had gone a block and over, the struggle against the elements leaving him
forgetful of all else, when a man reeled out of some dimly lit shack
to his right, and staggered drunkenly forward a few feet in advance. He
could barely distinguish the fellow's outlines, giving little thought to
the occurrence, for the way was unusually black along there, the saloon
opposite having shades drawn. Suddenly a flash of red fire spurted into
the night, with a sharp report. It was so close at hand it blinded him,
and he flung up one arm over his eyes, and yet, in that single instant,
he perceived the whole picture as revealed by the red flame. He saw
the man in front go down in a heap, the projection of the building from
behind which the shot came, the end of a wagon sticking forth into the
street which had concealed the assassin. The blinding flash, the shock
of that sudden discharge, for a moment held him motionless; then he
leaped forward, revolver in hand, sprang around the end of the wagon,
and rushed down the dark alley between two buildings. He could see
nothing, but someone was running recklessly ahead of him, and he fired
in the direction of the sound, the leaping spurt of flame yielding a dim
outline of the fugitive. Three times he pressed the trigger; then there
was nothing to shoot at--the fellow had faded away into the black void
of prairie. Keith stood there baffled, staring about into the gloom, the
smoking revolver in his hand. The sound of men's voices behind was all
that reached him, and feeling the uselessness of further pursuit, he
retraced his way back through the narrow passage.

A group was gathered about the body in the rain, a single lantern
glimmering. Two or three men had started down the passageway, and Keith
met them, revolvers drawn and suspicious.

"Who are you?" snapped one sharply. "Were you doing all th