light
burned. It was in Marion's cottage. He had chosen this room because
from the window he could see her home. He stood for a few moments with
his hands in his pockets, looking. When he turned away he drew the
shade closely, lighted a lamp, and unlocked the wardrobe door.

* * * * *

Scott left the barn at half-past ten with a led horse for Whispering
Smith. He rode past Smith's room in Fort Street, but the room was
dark, and he jogged down to the Wickiup square, where he had been told
to meet him. After waiting and riding about for an hour, he tied the
horses and went up to McCloud's office. McCloud was at his desk, but
knew nothing of Whispering Smith except that he was to come in before
he started. "He's a punctual man," murmured Bob Scott, who had the low
voice of the Indian. "Usually he is ahead of time."

"Is he in his room, do you think?" asked McCloud.

"I rode around that way about fifteen minutes ago; there was no
light."

"He must be there," declared McCloud. "Have you the horses below? We
will ride over and try the room again."

Fort Street back of Front is so quiet after eleven o'clock at night
that a footfall echoes in it. McCloud dismounted in front of the bank
building and, throwing the reins to Bob Scott, walked upstairs and
back toward Smith's room. In the hallway he paused. He heard faint
strains of music. They came from within the room--fragments of old
airs played on a violin, and subdued by a mute, in the darkness.
Instinct stayed McCloud's hand at the door. He stood until the music
ceased and footsteps moved about in the room; then he knocked, and a
light appeared within. Whispering Smith opened the door. He stood in
his trousers and shirt, with his cartridge-belt in his hand. "Come in,
George. I'm just getting hooked up."

"Which way are you going to-night, Gordon?" asked McCloud, sitting
down on the chair.

"I am going to Oroville. The crowd is celebrating there. It is a defi,
you know."

"Who are you going to take with you?"

"Nobody."

McCloud moved uneasily. "I don't like that."

"There will be nothing doing. Sinclair may be gone by the time I
arrive, but I want to see Bob and Gene Johnson, and scare the Williams
Cache coyotes, just to keep their tails between their legs."

"I'd like to kill off half a dozen of that gang."

Whispering Smith said nothing for a moment. "Did you ever have to kill
a man, George?" he asked buckling hi