cted behind him on the wall. The light
gleamed brightly from his gun. But it fell on an inert mass where
Barger had fallen to the earth.

He did not move, and Van, mechanically igniting the candle's wick,
while he eyed the man before him, beheld dry blood, and some that was
fresh, on the haggard face, on the tattered clothing, and even on one
loose hand.

"Barger!" he said. "What in thunder, man----"

The outlaw rallied his failing strength and raised himself up on one
hand. He could barely speak, but his lips attempted a smile.

"I thought I heard you--call fer the joker," he said, "and so--I come."

Van was up. He saw that the man had been literally shot to pieces.
One of his arms was broken. A portion of his scalp was gone. He was
pierced in the body and leg. He had met the posse, fought his fight,
escaped with wounds that must have stopped any animal on earth, and
then had dragged himself to Van, to repay his final debt.

"I haven't called--I haven't called for anything," said Van. "You're
wounded, man, you're----"

Barger rose up weakly to his knees.

"Need the money, don't you--now?" he interrupted. "You can--use the
reward, I guess."

"Good God, I don't want that kind of money!" Van exclaimed. "Who got
you, Matt--who got you?"

"Sheriff," said the convict dispassionately. "Good man, Christler--and
a pretty good shot--but I got away with his lead."

He slumped again, like a waxen thing on melting props, deprived of all
support.

Van plunged out to the water bench, with its bucket, near the door. He
brought back a basin of water, knelt on the ground, and bathed the
convict's face. He poured some liquor between the dead-white lips. He
slashed and unbuttoned the clothing and tried to staunch the wounds.
He bound up the arm, put a bandage on the leg and body, continuing from
time to time to dash cold water in the pallid, bearded face.

Barger had fainted at last. What hideous tortures the fellow had
endured to drag and drive himself across the mountain roughnesses to
win to this tent, Van could but weakly imagine.

The convict finally opened his eyes and blinked in the light of the
candle.

"What in hell--was the use of my comin' here," he faltered, "if you
don't take the money--the reward?"

"I don't want it!" said Van. "I told you that before."

Barger spoke with difficulty.

"It's different now; they've--got you in a hole. Van Buren, I'm your
meat! I'm--nuthin' but meat, b