"Well, DID they?" inquired Neale.

"Wal, I reckon not. I walked. An' some night I'll shore clean out

thet hall."

Neale did not know what to make of Larry's appearance. The cowboy

seemed to be relaxing. His lips, that had been tight, began to

quiver, and his hands shook. Then he swung the heavy gun-belt with

somber and serious air, as if he were undecided about leaving it off

even when about to go to bed.

"Red, you've thrown a gun!" exclaimed Neale.

Larry glanced at him, and Neale sustained a shock.

"Shore," drawled Larry.

"By Heaven! I knew you would," declared Neale, excitedly, and he

clenched his fist. "Did you--you kill some one?"

"Pard, I reckon he's daid," mused the cowboy. "I didn't look to

see.... Fust gun I've throwed fer long.... It 'll come back now,

shorer 'n hell!"

"What 'll come back?" queried Neale.

Larry did not answer this.

"Who'd you shoot?" Neale went on.

"Pard, I reckon it ain't my way to gab a lot," replied Larry.

"But you'll tell ME," insisted Neale, passionately. He jerked the

gun and belt from Larry, and threw them on the bed. "All right,"

drawled Larry, taking a deep breath. "I went into Stanton's hall the