shooting, and a horse is going to get killed. That'll
be your horse, Buck. An' it'll have your saddle on."

He had told his story. He told nothing of how he knew, and Thornton did
not press him, for he guessed swiftly that somehow the telling would
implicate Kid Bedloe, who was a pal... and little Jimmie Clayton was not
going to squeal on a pal.

Half an hour after he had come to the dugout Thornton left it. For
Clayton would not talk further and would not let him stay.

"I got a horse out there," he had said irritably. "I can get along. I'm
going to move on in the morning. So long, Buck."

So Thornton went back to his horse, wondering if, when tomorrow came,
Jimmie Clayton would not indeed be moving on, moving on like little Jo
to the land where men will be given an even break, where they will be
"given their chance." His foot was in the stirrup when he heard
Clayton's voice calling. He went back into the dugout. The light was out
and it was very dark.

"What is it, Jimmie?" he asked.

"I was thinking, Buck," came the halting answer, "that ... if you don't
care ... I _will_ shake hands."

Thornton put out his hand a little eagerly and his strong fingers closed
tightly upon the thin nervous fingers of Jimmie Clayton. Then he went
out without speaking.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE SHOW DOWN

Upon the first day of the month the stage leaving the Rock Creek Mines
in the early morning carried a certain long, narrow lock-box carefully
bestowed under the seat whereon sat Hap Smith and the guard. Also a
single passenger: a swarthy little man with ink-black hair plastered
down close upon a low, atavistic forehead and with small ink-black eyes.
In Dry Town beyond the mountains, to which he was evidently now
returning from the mines, he was known as Blackie, bartender of the Last
Chance saloon. This morning he had been abroad as early as the earliest;
he seemed to take a bright interest in everything, from the harnessing
of the four horses to the taking on of mail bags and boxes. In a moment
when Hap Smith, before the mine superintendent's cabin, was rolling a
cigarette preparatory to the long drive, Blackie even stepped forward
briskly and gave the guard a hand with the long, narrow lock-box.

Keen eyed and watchful as Blackie was he failed to see a man who never
lost sight of him or of the stage until it rolled out of the mining camp
through the early morning. The man, unusually tall, wearing black shaggy
chaps, g