y!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death
with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully,
placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself.

"It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But
some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back
as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the
bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from
his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want
to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it
takes nerve for a job like this."

"It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel.

"I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get
what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?"

"No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a
close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and
never spoke of his private affairs."

There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's
agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom
he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter
and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore
as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor.

"He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a
ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden
by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant
out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he
added.

"No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler.

"I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken
before.

"Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place,
however; we shall wait for the proper officials."

"Who do you want, Colonel?"

"Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison.

The man nodded.

"All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting
attorney?" as he turned to leave.

"Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him."

The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and
smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders
arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared
at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the
same object but