ly hesitated, but before those deadly elbows he blenched, his
whiskers wilted all at once, and he retreated backwards; across the
spacious drawing room, along the hall and down the stairs he went, his
pace ever accelerating, until, in full flight, he reached the sanctuary
of his pantry, where, having locked himself securely in, he sank panting
into a chair to mop beaded brow.

"My word!" said Mr. Brimberly.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

IN WHICH SOAPY TAKES UPON HIMSELF A NEW ROLE

Soapy was alone, which in itself was no new thing, for Soapy was a
solitary soul at all times; but just now he sat close against the
rotting fence which skirted that desolation behind O'Rourke's saloon.
Moreover, it was night, and solitude profound was his. He sat on a
battered and disused pail that chanced to be handy, a smouldering
cigarette dangling from his thin-lipped mouth, his long hands pendulous
between his knees, his pallid eyelids sleepily a-droop; but his eyes,
quick and watchful, scanned the deeper gloom of fence and dismal
outbuilding, and he sat there very patient and very still. At last he
stirred slightly, the cigarette quivered and was motionless again, for,
amid the shadows, he had seen a dim shape that flitted swiftly toward
him; on it came, creeping swift and silent beside the fence, nearer and
nearer until it resolved itself into a slender form. Then Soapy spoke.

"Hello, Kid!"

Ensued a moment of tense silence, then Spike answered, his voice
unnaturally thin and high-pitched.

"That--that you, Soapy?"

"'S right, Kid!"

"What you--doin' around--here?"

"Who, me? Y' see, I'm kind o' yearnin' for that gun you got there--"

"Gun? I--I ain't got--no gun--"

"Well, Kid, I know Heine's all kinds of a liar, but he tells me he's
loaned you one of his, an' so--" Soapy's long arm shot out in the gloom
and seizing Spike's right arm he drew it near. "Why, Kid," said he, "it
kind o' looks like Heine told the truth for once by accident, don't
it?"

"You leggo my wrist!"

"Right-o, Kid, right-o! Don't get peeved--"

"Well, leggo then!"

"Sure! Only this artillery ain't goin' t' be no good t' you t'night--ye
see, Bud--ain't here! 'S rough on ye, Kid, 's rough, but he ain't!"

"W--what--d' ye mean?" stammered the boy.

"I mean as you comin' here t' plug holes in Bud's carcase it's kind o'
rough on you as there ain't goin' t' be no carcase here to plug. Y' see,
Bud's took his carcase up-town with him t'night--"

"Yo