ll prone across the path and lay quite still.

Stone, followed by a man nearest him, scrambling down the draw, hurried
along the creek bottom, and ran up to reach the path where the murdered
man lay. The dog, barking and dashing wildly around his prostrate
master, spied the foreman and sprang furiously down the trail at him.
Stone, rifle in one hand and revolver in the other, was ready, and,
firing from the hip, broke the collie's back. With a howl the stricken
brute turned, and, dragging his helpless hindquarters along the ground
with incredible swiftness, pawed himself back to the dying man's head
and yelping, licked frantically at the hand of his master. Coming up
into plain sight, Stone got a good look at the man he had killed:
"Stormy Gorman!" he exclaimed, with an oath of surprise. "Who'd 'a'
thought," he continued, "that big bum would be up at Dutch Henry's this
morning!"

The old prize-fighter was struggling in his last round. His
heavy-lidded eyes, swollen with drink and sleep, were closed, and from
his mouth, as his head hung to one side, a dark stream ran to a little
pool in the dust. Only a stertorous breathing reflected his effort to
live and even this was fast failing. Van Horn hurried up the path from
the bottom, whither he had followed Stone; anger was all over his face:
"Kill that damned dog," he exclaimed, out of breath, to those about
him. Two of the three men drew revolvers and shot the collie through
the head.

"Damnation!" cried Van Horn in a fury. "Stop your shooting. Couldn't
you knock him in the head? Do you want to start up the whole country?"
he demanded, as he saw the man who lay at his feet and had taken the
brief count for eternity was Gorman. He turned on Stone with rage in
his eyes and his voice: "Now," he cried, punctuating his abuse with the
fiercest gestures, "you've done it, haven't you!" Anger almost choked
him. "You've got Gorman with a brass band and left Dutch Henry in the
cabin waiting for us, haven't you? Why," he roared, "didn't you obey
orders, let this tank get down to the bottom and knock him on the head
into the creek?" A violent recrimination between Stone and Van Horn
followed. But the milk was spilt as well as the blood of the stubborn
rustler, and there was nothing for it but new dispositions.

Gorman's presence indicated that Henry was at home. If he were at
home, he was, no doubt, within the cabin; but just how, after Stone's
blunder, to get at h