You shot your partner in the back after he did his best to help you
escape. You tortured Onistah and would have killed him if we hadn't
come in time. You assaulted my friend here and he'll probably die from
his wounds. It's the end of the long trail for you, Bully West. Inside
of half an hour you will be dead. If you've anything to say--if you
can make your peace with heaven--don't waste a moment."

The face of West went gray. He stared at the other man, the
horror-filled eyes held fascinated. "You--you're tryin' to scare me,"
he faltered. "You wouldn't do that. You couldn't. It ain't allowed by
the Commissioner." One of the bound arms twitched involuntarily. The
convict knew that he was lost. He had a horrible conviction that this
man meant to do as he had said.

The face of Morse was inexorable as fate itself, but inside he was a
river of rushing sympathy. This man was bad. He himself had forced the
circumstances that made it impossible to let him live. None the less
Tom felt like a murderer. The thing he had to do was so horribly
cold-blooded. If this had been a matter between the two of them, he
could at least have given the fellow a chance for his life. But not
now--not with Win Beresford in the condition he was. If he were going
to save his friend, he could not take the chances of a duel.

"Ten minutes now," Morse said. His voice was hoarse and low. He felt
his nerves twitching, a tense aching in the throat.

"I always liked you fine, Tom," the convict pleaded desperately. "Me
'n' you was always good pals. You wouldn't do me dirt thataway now. If
you knew the right o' things--how that Kelly kep' a-devilin' me, how
Whaley was layin' to gun me when he got a chanct, how I stood up for
the McRae girl an' protected her against him. Goddlemighty, man, you
ain't aimin' to kill me like a wolf!" The shriek of uncontrollable
terror lifted into his voice once more. "I ain't ready to die. Gimme a
chance, Tom. I'll change my ways. I swear I will. I'll do like you say
every minute. I'll nurse Beresford. Me, I'm a fine nurse. If you'll
gimme a week--jus' one more week. That ain't much to ask. So's I can
git ready."

The man slipped to his knees and began to crawl toward Morse. The
young man got up, his teeth set. He could not stand much of this sort
of thing without collapsing himself.

"Get up," he said. "We're going over the hill there."

"No--no--no!"

It took Morse five minutes to get the condemned man to his feet.