lked to me, and talked truth.
Blizzard is planning a revolution. You are to be one of the leaders. You
imagine that one of the hell-governed Latin republics is to be the seat
of operations, or you wouldn't have gone into the thing. But Blizzard is
after bigger game than undeveloped wildernesses. Mr. Allen, you are part
of a conspiracy to overthrow the government of New York City."

"Say that again."

The stranger smiled. "O'Hagan at the last made a clean breast of
everything. He had to. I came West to make him."

"At the _last_? What does that mean?"

"When a man won't talk you have to make him--even if you fix him so that
he can never talk again."

"Is O'Hagan _dead_?"

"He had his choice. But he _had_ to talk. If I had let him off
afterward--I couldn't have gotten away with the information. One of us
had to go out, and I had the power to decide which. I chose that O'Hagan
should be the one. He was a man steeped in crime. I am not."

"You killed him?"

"I am a very poor talker if I have conveyed another meaning. I tracked
him into the mountains. He shot me twice before I could get my hands on
him. I twisted the truth out of him, and then as I was about to faint
like a school-girl, and as my information was precious, I flung him over
a cliff. If I hadn't, you see, he could have fixed me while I was
unconscious."

The man's voice was very quiet, very matter-of-fact. Wilmot stared at
him with a sort of wondering horror, for he knew that the man was
telling the truth.

"He shot you twice. That was some time yesterday. You've seen a doctor?"

"There was none, and I had to ride all night to get here."

"Are you badly hit?"

The stranger drew back his coat and disclosed a shirt twice perforated
over the abdomen and dark with dried and thickening blood. "Please don't
try to do anything. There's no help. The damage is where it doesn't
show. Only listen, please, and believe, and be frank with me."

Wilmot nodded gravely. "I don't know who you are," he said, "but you are
hurt, and if you'd rather talk than try to do something about it, of
course I'll listen."

[Illustration: "I twisted the truth out of him, and then flung him over
a cliff"]

"You are in wrong on the revolution," said the stranger. "It is not to
come off in South America, but in the city of New York. If Blizzard's
plans carry, this will happen. On the 15th of January there will be an
explosion of dynamite loud enough to be heard from, the Batt