the social amenities indulged in by
the noble company. On Monday evening I rode out to the ranch, urged by
Moore, who was anxious that someone should look after Bruce.

"I don't belong to them," he said, "you do. They won't resent your
coming."

Nor did they. They were sitting at tea, and welcomed me with a shout.

"Hello, old domine!" yelled Bruce, "where's your preacher friend?"

"Where you ought to be, if you could get there--at home," I replied,
nettled at his insolent tone.

"Strike one!" called out Hi, enthusiastically, not approving Bruce's
attitude toward his friend, The Pilot.

"Don't be so acute," said Bruce, after the laugh had passed, "but have a
drink."

He was flushed and very shaky and very noisy. The Duke, at the head
of the table, looked a little harder than usual, but, though pale, was
quite steady. The others were all more or less nerve-broken, and about
the room were the signs of a wild night. A bench was upset, while broken
bottles and crockery lay strewn about over a floor reeking with filth.
The disgust on my face called forth an apology from the younger Hill,
who was serving up ham and eggs as best he could to the men lounging
about the table.

"It's my housemaid's afternoon out," he explained gravely.

"Gone for a walk in the park," added an other.

"Hope MISTER Connor will pardon the absence," sneered Bruce, in his most
offensive manner.

"Don't mind him," said Hi, under his breath, "the blue devils are
runnin' him down."

This became more evident as the evening went on. From hilarity Bruce
passed to sullen ferocity, with spasms of nervous terror. Hi's attempts
to soothe him finally drove him mad, and he drew his revolver, declaring
he could look after himself, in proof of which he began to shoot out the
lights.

The men scrambled into safe corners, all but The Duke, who stood quietly
by watching Bruce shoot. Then saying:

"Let me have a try, Bruce," he reached across and caught his hand.

"No! you don't," said Bruce, struggling. "No man gets my gun."

He tore madly at the gripping hand with both of his, but in vain,
calling out with frightful oaths:

"Let go! let go! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

With a furious effort he hurled himself back from the table, dragging
The Duke partly across. There was a flash and a report and Bruce
collapsed, The Duke still gripping him. When they lifted him up he was
found to have an ugly wound in his arm, the bullet having passed throu