t by its walls. In the fathomless blue above a buzzard sailed
majestically down an air current, and hovered motionless over the
lonely outpost of civilization.

Within the station a telegraph-sounder chattered and chirruped. 'Ole
Man' Terrill was at the instrument. His duties were over for the
forenoon, the east-bound express, which, with the west-bound, composed
the only trains that traversed that section of the road each day,
having arrived and departed a half-hour before, and he had cut in on
the line to regale himself with the news of the world. But there was a
dearth of thrilling events, such as his rude soul delighted in. The
Apache uprising, that was feared, had not taken place. Colonel Hardie,
of Fort Grant, had the situation well in hand. The Nihilists were
giving their latest czar a breathing-spell. No new prize-fighter had
arisen to wrest the championship of the world from John Sullivan, who
had put all his old rivals 'to sleep.' 'Ole Man' Terrill proceeded to
follow their example. He had been up late the night before at a poker
game. His head fell forward with a jerk. Aroused by the shock, he
glanced drowsily about him. Heat-waves danced before the open window.
Deep silence hung over his little world. Again his eyelids closed; his
head dropped, and slowly he slipped into sleep.

Tragedy was approaching him now, but not along the wire. Down an
arroyo, or "draw" (the dry bed of a watercourse), that wound in a
detour around the town of Florence, and debauched into the open plain
near the station, crept two men in single file, each leading a horse.
They were Buck McKee and Bud Lane, who had ridden north from the town
that morning with the declared purpose of going to Buck's old ranch,
the Lazy K. They had circled about the town, timing their arrival at
the station a little after the departure of the train which was
expected to bring Dick Lane's money.

McKee emerged first from the mouth of the draw. He wore a coarse
flannel shirt, loosened at the throat. About his neck was a
handkerchief. His riding-overalls were tucked into high boots with
Spanish heels and long spurs. A Mexican hat with a bead band topped a
head covered with coarse black hair, which he inherited from his
Cherokee mother.

Save for the vulture floating high in air not a living thing was in
sight. With the caution of a coyote, McKee crept to the station door
and peered blinkingly through the open door into the room. The ch