"Quong," said Ajax, in his deep voice, "is hardly a man yet. We call
him Mary, because he looks like a girl. You want him--eh? You are not
satisfied with what you did yesterday? You want him? But--do you want
him _dying_?"

The pack cowered.

"He is dying," said Ajax. "No matter how they live, and a wiser Judge
than any of us will pronounce on that, no matter how they live--are
your own lives clean?--the meanest of these Chinese knows how to die.
One moment, please."

He entered the room where Mary lay blind and deaf to the terror which
had come at last. When Ajax returned, he said quietly: "Come and see
the end of what you began. What? You hang back? By God!--you shall
come."

Dominated by his eye and voice, the pack slunk into the bed-room. Upon
Mary's once comely face the purple weals were criss-crossed; and sores
had broken out wherever the cactus spines had pierced the flesh. A
groan escaped the men who had wrought this evil, and glancing at each
in turn, I caught a glimpse of a quickening remorse, of a horror about
to assume colossal dimensions. The Cock-a-whoop cowboy was seized with
a palsy; great tears rolled down the cheeks of the gaunt Missourian;
one man began to swear incoherently, cursing himself and his fellows;
another prayed aloud.

"He's dead!" shrieked Charlie.

At the grim word, moved by a common impulse, whipped to unreasonable
panic as they had been whipped to unreasoning cruelty, the pack broke
headlong from the room--and fled!

Long after they had gone, Mary opened his eyes.

"Coon Dogs coming?" he muttered. "Heap bad men!"

"They have come and gone," said Ajax. "They'll never come again, Mary.
It's all right. Go to sleep."

Mary obediently closed his eyes.

"He'll recover," Ajax said. And he did.

XVI

OLD MAN BOBO'S MANDY

Old man Bobo was the sole survivor of a once famous trio. Two out of
the three, Doc Dickson and Pap Spooner, had passed to the shades, and
the legend ran that when their disembodied spirits reached the banks
of Styx, the ruling passion of their lives asserted itself for the
last time. They demurred loudly, impatiently, at the exorbitant fee,
ten cents, demanded by Charon.

"We weigh light," said Pap Spooner, "awful light! Call it, mister,
fifteen cents for the two!"

"Ten cents apiece," replied the ferryman, "or three for a quarter."

Thereupon the worthy couple seated themselves in Cimmerian darkness,
and vowed their intention of awaiting ol