y whirled in a careless
circle--the next its noose darts out like the head of a striking cobra,
the coil falls and fastens, and then it draws tighter and tighter,
remorselessly as a boa constrictor, paralyzing life.

Something of all this went through the mind of Bard as he lay watching
the limp noose of the cowboy's lariat, and then he nodded smiling.

"I suppose that seems an odd habit to some men, but I sympathize with
it. I have it myself, in fact. And whenever I'm out in the wilds and
carry a gun I like to have it under my head when I sleep. That's even
queerer than your fancy, isn't it?"

And he slipped his revolver under the blankets at the head of his bunk.

CHAPTER XIX

THE CANDLE

"Yes," said Nash, "that's a queer stunt, because when you're lyin' like
that with your head right over the gun and the blankets in between, it'd
take you a couple of seconds to get it out."

"Not when you're used to it. You'd be surprised to see how quickly a man
can get the gun out from under."

"That so?"

"Yes, and shooting while you're lying on your back is pretty easy, too,
when you've had practice."

"Sure, with a rifle, but not with a revolver."

"Well, do you see that bit of paper in the corner there up on the
rafter?"

"Yes."

The hand of Bard whipped under his head, there was a gleam and whirl of
steel, an explosion, and the bit of paper came fluttering slowly down
from the rafter, like a wounded bird struggling to keep upon the air. A
draft caught the paper just before it landed and whirled it through the
doorless entrance and out into the night.

He was yawning as he restored the gun beneath the blanket, but from the
corner of his eye he saw the hardening of Nash's face, a brief change
which came and went like the passing of a shadow.

"That's something I'll remember," drawled the cowpuncher.

"You ought to," answered the other quickly, "it comes in handy now and
then."

"Feel sleepy?"

The candle guttered and flickered on the floor midway between the two
bunks, and Bard, glancing to it, was about to move from his bed and
snuff it; but at the thought of so doing it seemed to him as if he could
almost sense with prophetic mind the upward dart of the noose about his
shoulders. He edged a little lower in the blankets.

"Not a bit. How about you?"

"Me? I most generally lie awake a while and gab after I hit the hay.
Makes me sleep better afterward."

"I do the same thing when I've any one