ike people do in
their sleep.

"I did my best, Will," she said, as she smoothed his thick black
hair. "I tried my hardest to save you, and I always thought I would
win ... but they've beat me, Will. They were too strong for me ...
and I'm sorry!" She bent down and tenderly kissed his forehead, damp
now with the dews of death.

There was not a leaf stirring on the trees. Every bird in the valley
was still. Only the gentle lapping of the Souris over the fallen tree
in the current below them came to their ears.

Sandy Braden's face was as white as his shirt-bosom as he stood
looking at Bill's quiet face.

A cheer from the lacrosse grounds came like a voice from another
world; the world of life and pleasure and action.

Mrs. Cavers, roused at the sound, stood up and addressed the
hotel-keeper.

"Excuse me, Mr. Braden," she said, "I was almost forgetting. Mr.
Cavers, I know had not enough with him to pay for ... all this." She
motioned toward Bill's dead face. "This ... must have cost a lot."
She handed him some silver. "It is all I have with me to-day ... I
hope it is enough. I know Mr. Cavers would not like to leave a debt
... like this."

Mechanically Sandy Braden took the money, then dropping it as if it
burned him, he turned away and went slowly up the road that he had
come, reeling unsteadily. A three-seated democrat, filled with
drunken men, was just driving away from his stable. They were a crowd
from Howard, who had been drinking heavily at his bar all the
afternoon. They drove away,--madly lashing their horses into a
gallop.

Sandy Braden hid in a clump of poplars until they got past him.
Looking back toward the river he could see Mrs. Cavers kneeling
beside her husband, and even at that distance he fancied he could see
Bill's dead face looking into hers, and begging her to understand.
Just as the democrat passed pants burst into maudlin song:

"Who's the best man in this town?
Sandy Braden, Sandy Braden.
Who's the best man in this town?
Sandy Braden, Sandy Braden."

And then it was that Sandy Braden fell prone upon the ground and
buried his face in the cool, green grass, crying: "God be merciful to
me, a sinner!"

* * *

When the victorious lacrosse team came down the street, they were
followed by a madly cheering throng. They went straight to the hotel,
where, by the courtesy of the proprietor, they had always been given
rooms in which to dress.

Bob Steele met them at the office doo