honestly and hard, getting such
information as he could concerning who was who among the desperadoes,
gathering data as to their movements. The facts began to accumulate: a
word dropped in a gambling-hall, a name spoken before a noisy bar, a
whispered confidence from a prisoner who felt his companions had not
done all they might in his behalf.

Gradually the evidence took the shape of a long finger pointing toward
Juan Soto, who was living in the little town of Contention, as the
leader who was handling matters in the San Pedro valley. About this
time John Slaughter began riding out of Tombstone under cover of the
night. The days went by; the sheriff came back to Tombstone morning
after morning, red-eyed with weariness, put up his pony, and went
about his business saying nothing as usual.

One day news came to the county seat that two cattle-buyers had been
robbed and murdered down near the Mexican line. John Slaughter saddled
up and rode over to Charleston that morning, and when Juan Soto came
into town he met the sheriff who addressed him over the barrel of a
leveled forty-five.

"I'll just take you along with me to-day," John Slaughter said.

It was a good tight case. Tombstone was startled by the news that Juan
Soto had been a member of a bandit band in California. The sheriff was
able to give some first-hand testimony concerning the defendant's
nocturnal habits. But the community's excitement slumped to sullen
anger when the jury brought in its verdict and Juan Soto smiled as he
departed from the court-house a free man.

Things had reached a pass where a vigilance committee appeared to be
the appropriate climax. But that was not John Slaughter's way; if any
one were going to take the power of the high justice he proposed to be
the man. He rode over to Contention and camped in front of Juan
Soto's house late in the evening. The night passed, and when the
bandit leader came riding home from Charleston with the dawn, he saw
the sheriff standing before his door.

Both men reached for their revolvers at the same moment, but John
Slaughter's hand was quicker. It was his chance to kill; according to
the ethics of the gun-play he had that right. But he chose a different
course.

"Leave the country," he said. "If you're here after ten days, I'll
kill you on sight."

Soon after Juan Soto departed on his exile, the town of Wilcox over in
Sulphur Springs valley was treated to a sensation, in the banishment
of Van Wy