id, till he began to look natural. But he still talked wildly and
strangely.

"I told you, Joe," he said to his old friend; "I told you my time was
nigh up. This hasn't been my first warning. That Abilene ghost has been
before me a thousand times, and he has hissed that same word,
'_sister,_' in my ear."

"Bah! old boy. What's the use of your talking foolish. You've seen no
ghost. That red-haired chap was as live as you are."

"He did have red hair and blue eyes, then?"

"Yes; but there are lots of such all over the world. Red hair and blue
eyes generally travel in company. But he was nothing to scare you. You
could have wiped him out with one back-handed blow of your fist, let
alone usin' shootin' irons, of which there wasn't 'casion, seein' he
didn't draw."

"Where is he now?"

"I'll go and see. I suppose he is over at the stable."

Joe went out, but soon returned to say that the Texan had just ridden
off, after paying his bill; the stable-keeper did not know where.

"Let him go," murmured Bill. "If he _is_ a man, and not a ghost, I
wouldn't raise a hand to hurt him, not for all the gold in the Black
Hills. He was so like--_so_ like the chap I dropped in Abilene!"

Bill took another drink, but it seemed as if nothing could lift the
gloom which weighed down his heart. Only once did his face brighten.
That was when Sam Chichester said there was no use hanging on at Laramie
any longer for a bigger crowd; they were strong enough now, and would
start for the Hills inside of four-and-twenty hours.

"That's the talk for me!" cried Bill. "I want to get out of here as soon
as I can, Joe, and pick me out some sort of a horse. I don't care what,
so it'll carry me to the Hills, I can't breathe free any longer where
there's such a lot of folks."

"I'll get you a first-chop horse, Bill," said Joe. "There's some
half-breeds in a corral just out of town, as tough as grizzlies, and
heavy enough for your weight or mine."

"I don't weigh down, as I did," said Bill, with a sigh. "I've been
losin' weight for six months back. No matter. It'll be less trouble to
tote me when I go under. Remember, boys, when I do, bury me with my
boots on, just as I die."

"Stop your clatter about dyin', Bill. I'm sick o' that kind of talk.
It's time enough to talk of death when its clutch is on you."

"I can't help it, Joe, old pard. It keeps a stickin' in my throat, and
if it didn't come out, I'd choke."

"Let's go to camp," said Chiches