song of birds was stricken
into silence. Ware, heavy-eyed Fentress, his lips twisted by a tortured
smile, watched Mahaffy as he panted for breath, with his hand clenched
against his chest. That dead oppressive silence lasted but a moment,
from out of it came a cry that smote on the wounded man's ears and
reached his consciousness.

"It's Price--" he gasped, his words bathed in blood, and he pitched
forward on his face.

Ware and Fentress had heard the cry, too, and running to their horses
threw themselves into the saddle and galloped off. The judge midway of
the meadow roared out a furious protest but the mounted men turned into
the highroad and vanished from sight, and the judge's shaking legs bore
him swiftly in the direction of the gaunt figure on the ground.

Mahaffy struggled to rise, for he was hearing his friend's voice now,
the voice of utter anguish, calling his name. At last painful effort
brought him to his knees. He saw the judge, clothed principally in
a gaily colored bed-quilt, hatless and shoeless, his face sodden and
bleary from his night's debauch. Mahaffy stood erect and staggered
toward him, his hand over his wound, his features drawn and livid, then
with a cry he dropped at his friend's feet.

"Solomon! Solomon!" And the judge knelt beside him.

"It's all right, Price; I kept your appointment," whispered Mahaffy; a
bloody spume was gathering on his lips, and he stared up at his friend
with glassy eyes.

In very shame the judge hid his face in his hands, while sobs shook him.

"Solomon--Solomon, why did you do this?" he cried miserably.

The harsh lines on the dying man's face erased themselves.

"You're the only friend I've known in twenty years of loneliness, Price.
I've loved you like a brother," he panted, with a pause between each
word.

Again the judge buried his face in his hands.

"I know it, Solomon--I know it!" he moaned wretchedly.

"Price, you are still a man to be reckoned with. There's the boy; take
your place for his sake and keep it--you can."

"I will--by God, I will!" gasped the judge. "You hear me? You hear me,
Solomon? By God's good help, I will!"

"You have the president's letter--I saw it," said Mahaffy in a whisper.

"Yes!" cried the judge. "Solomon, the world is changing for us!"

"For me most of all," murmured Mahaffy, and there was a bleak instant
when the judge's ashen countenance held the full pathos of age and
failure. "Remember your oath, Price," gaspe