before, back in
the dressing-room, began to creep once more across Hogarty's face.

"You know how long I've been waiting for one to come along, Chub," he
went on, almost hoarsely. "You know how I've looked for the man who
could do what none of the others have done yet, even though he is only
a second-rater. Twice I thought I had a newcomer who could put The Red
away--and put him away for keeps--and I just fooled myself because I
was so anxious to believe. I've grown a trifle wary, Chub, just a
trifle! Now, I'd like to hear you talk!"

Morehouse sat and fingered that card for a long time in absolute
silence--a silence that was heavy with embarrassment on his part. He
understood, without need of explanation, for whom that chill hatred
glowed in the spare ex-lightweight's eyes--knew the full reason for
it. And because he knew Hogarty, too, as few men had ever come to know
him, he had often assured himself that he was thankful not to be the
man who had earned it.

That knowledge had been very vividly present when, a few days
before, on the platform of the Boltonwood station, he had requested
Denny Bolton to give him back his card for a moment, after listening
to the boy's grave explanation of the raw wound across his cheek,
and on a quite momentary impulse written across its back that short
sentence which was so meaty with meaning. Every detail of Hogarty's
country-wide search for a man who could whip Jed The Red was an open
secret, so far as he was concerned; he was familiar with all the
bitterness of every fresh disappointment, but he had never seen
Hogarty's face so alive with exultant hope as it was at that moment.

And Morehouse was embarrassed and sorry, and ashamed, too, of what
seemed now must have been a weak surrender to an impulse which, after
all, could have been born of nothing but a too keen sense of humor.
Hogarty's face was more than eager. It was white and strained.

"Flash," he began at last, ludicrously uncomfortable, "Flash, I'm
sorry I wrote this, for I always told you that if I ever did send any
one to you he'd be a live one and worth your trouble. Right this
minute I can't tell why I did it, either, unless I am one of those
naturally dangerous idiots with a perverted sense of what is really
funny. Or maybe I didn't believe he'd ever get any farther from home
than he was that morning when I gave him this card. That must have
been it, I suppose. Because I never saw him in action. Why, I never so