quiet tones, and glittering
black eyes held him cowed. The terror of Toyah had found his master,
and knew it.

At last, in utter disgust, Allison concluded:

"Mr. Clayton, your invitation brought me twenty miles to meet a gun
fighter. I find you such a cur that if ever we meet again I'll lash
you into strips with a bull whip."

A month later Mr. Clayton was killed by his own brother-in-law, Grant
Tinnin, one of the quiet good men of the country, who never failed to
score in any real emergency.

"I wonder how it will all end!" Allison used often to remark while
lying idly staring into the camp-fire. "Of course I know I can't keep
up this sort o' thing; some one's sure to get me. An' I'd jes' give
anything in the world to know _how_ I'm goin to die--by pistol or
knife."

It turned out that Fate had decreed other means for his removal.

One day Allison and his brother-in-law John McCullough had a serious
quarrel. Allison left the ranch and rode into town to think it over.
In his later years killing had become such a mania with him that his
best friend could never feel entirely safe against his deadly temper;
the least difference might provoke a collision. McCullough was
therefore not greatly surprised to get a letter from Allison a few days
later, sent out by special messenger, telling him that Allison would
reach the ranch late in the afternoon of the next day and would kill
him on sight.

Early in the morning of the appointed day Allison left town in a
covered hack. He had been drinking heavily and had whiskey with him.
About half-way between town and the ranch he overtook George Larramore,
a freighter, seated out in the sun on top of his heavy load.

"Hello, George!" called Allison; "mighty hot up there, ain't it?"

"Howd'y, Mr. Allison. I don' mind the heat; I'm used to it," answered
Larramore.

"George," called Allison, after driving on a short distance, "'pears to
me the good things o' this world ain't equally divided. I don't see
why you should sit up there roasting in the sun an' me down here in the
shade o' the hack. We'll jes' even things a little right here. You
crawl down off that load an' jump into the hack an' I'll get up there
an' drive your team."

"Pow'ful good o' you, Mr. Allison, but----"

"Crawl down, I say, George, it's Clay tellin' you!"

And the change was made without further delay.

Five miles farther up the road John McCullough and two friends lay in
ambush all that d