took a deep
drink and bathed his feverish face in the refreshing liquid. Half of
his mad task was performed, but, as he fully realized, the riskiest
part was yet to come.

Taking another long drink, he lifted the heavy copper and, bearing it
in front of him so as to conceal it as much as possible by his person,
he walked slowly back towards the hut.

Two-thirds of the return was covered in safety when the convict guard
shouted with an oath, "Come back, you fool, do you want to get the
daylights shot out of you?"

Ritter's answer was a taunting laugh as he bounded towards the hut.

The guard's rifle cracked and the fleeing man staggered drunkenly but
sped on, while the convict working the lever of his Winchester with
remorseless cruelty, emptied its contents after the fleeing figure.

At the doorway of the hut, Ritter crumpled to his knees.

"Take the copper," he cried to Walter, "I'm hit." Walter quickly
placed the vessel inside, then, heedless of the rain of bullets,
dragged the wounded man inside.

The others had been awakened by the noise and were quickly at his side.

"Chris, give me a hand to lay him on my bed; Captain, replace the post
in the doorway," Walter commanded with heartsore calmness.

The wounded man opened his eyes as they laid him gently on the couch.

"It's no use bothering with me, old chap," he said, quietly. "I'm hit
in a dozen places and I'm doctor enough to know that I'm going fast."

Walter buried his head by the dying man's side and sobbed dryly.

"There, there," the other said, soothingly, "don't feel bad about it.
It's just what I wished for. I'm going to die like a gentleman."

Walter hushed his sobs with an effort to catch the feebly spoken words.

The wounded man's eyes closed, and Walter held his breath for a second
thinking him dead, but in a moment he opened them again and smiled
faintly, "There's nothing to a race but the finish," he whispered.

A little longer he lay still breathing heavily. Suddenly by a mighty
effort he raised himself on his elbow, his eyes shining with a strange
light. "Not guilty, your honor," he said in a firm voice, then sank
back still and white.

"He's dead," said Walter, brokenly. "He had his wish; he died like a
hero."

They covered the still form reverently with a blanket, and the silence
of bitter grief settled on the little party. The others had not become
so intimate with the dead man as Walter, but they had grown to admire
hi