don't shoot!"

His rifle he had already thrown away. With his arms reaching above him,
his terror-stricken eyes popping from his head, he was a picture of the
most frightened "bad man" who had ever done business in Arizona.

Half way down the lane Cranston was hit. He sank to his knees, and from
there lopped over sideways to his left elbow. In the darkness his voice
could be heard, for the firing had momentarily ceased.

"They've got me, Soapy. Run for it. I'll hold 'em back."

"Hit bad, Bill?"

"I'm all in. _Vamos!_"

Stone turned to run, and for the first time saw that his retreat was cut
off. As fast as he could pump the lever his rifle began working again.

The firing this time did not last more than five seconds. When the smoke
cleared it was all over. Soapy lay on his back, shot through and through.
Blackwell had taken advantage of the diversion to crawl through the
strands of barbed wire and to disappear in the chaparral. Bill had rolled
over on his face.

Curly crept through the fence after the escaping man, but in that heavy
undergrowth he knew it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. After
a time he gave it up and returned to the field of battle.

Dick was bending over Stone. He looked up at the approach of his friend
and said just one word.

"Dead."

Cullison had torn open Cranston's shirt and was examining his wounds.

"No use, Luck. I've got a-plenty. You sure fooled us thorough. Was it Sam
gave us away?"

"No, Bill. Curly overheard Soapy and Blackwell at Chalkeye's Place. Sam
stood pat, though you were planning to murder him."

"I wasn't in on that, Luck--didn't know a thing about it till after the
boy was shot. I wouldn't a-stood for it."

"He wasn't shot. Curly saved him. He had to give you away to do it."

"Good enough. Serves Soapy right for double crossing Sam. Take care of
that kid, Luck. He's all right yet." His eye fell on Flandrau. "You're a
game sport, son. You beat us all. No hard feelings."

"Sorry it had to be this way, Bill."

The dying man was already gray to the lips, but his nerve did not falter.
"It had to come some time. And it was Luck ought to have done it too." He
waved aside Sweeney, who was holding a flask to his lips. "What's the use?
I've got mine."

"Shall we take him to the house?" Maloney asked.

"No. I'll die in the open. Say, there's something else, boys. Curly has
been accused of that Bar Double M horse rustling back in the early summer.
I did