"I was wishing to Gawd you did," retorted the proprietor. "It never looked so bloody big before, d—n 'is 'ide!"
"Well, his cayuse is in Hawley's corral," said the first speaker. "If I ever finds Hawley kept him under cover I 'll blow his head off. Come on; we 'll get Harris first. He ought to be gettin' close to town if he got th' word I sent over to Tuxedo. He won't let us call him. He's a man of his word."
"He 'll be here, all right. Fred an' Tom is watchin' his shack, an' we better take th' other end of town—there 's no tellin' how he 'll come in now," suggested Art Thomas. "But I wish I knowed where that cussed gun-man is."
As they went out Bill, his chaps on and his boots in his hand, crept down the stairs, and stopped as he neared the hall door. The proprietor was coming back. The others were outside, going to their stations and did not hear the choking gasp that the proprietor made as a pair of strong hands reached out and throttled him. When he came to he was lying face down on a
