ped out of town.

The drumming of hoofs came down the wind to a young fellow returning from
a late call on his sweetheart. He wondered who was in such a hurry.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

DUG DOBLE RIDES INTO THE HILLS

The booming of the guns died down. The acrid smoke that filled the room
lifted to shredded strata. A man's deep breathing was the only sound in
the heavy darkness.

Presently came a soft footfall of some one moving cautiously. A match
flared. A hand cupped the flame for an instant to steady it before the
match moved toward the wick of a kerosene lamp.

Dug Doble's first thought was for his own safety. The house door was
closed, the window blinds were down. He had heard the beat of hoofs die
away on the road. But he did not intend to be caught by a trick. He
stepped forward, locked the door, and made sure the blinds were offering
no cracks of light. Satisfied that all was well, he turned to the figure
sprawled on the floor with outflung arms.

"Dead as a stuck shote," he said callously after he had turned the body
over. "Got him plumb through the forehead--in the dark, too. Some
shootin', Shorty."

He stood looking down at the face of the man whose brain had spun so
many cobwebs of deceit and treachery. Even in death it had none of that
dignity which sometimes is lent to those whose lives have been full of
meanness and guile. But though Doble looked at his late ally, he was not
thinking about him. He was mapping out his future course of action.

If any one had heard the shots and he were found here now, no jury on
earth could be convinced that he had not killed Steelman. His six-shooter
still gave forth a faint trickle of smoke. An examination would show that
three shots had been fired from it.

He must get away from the place at once.

Doble poured himself half a tumbler of whiskey and drank it neat. Yes, he
must go, but he might as well take with him any money Steelman had in the
safe. The dead man owed him a thousand dollars he would never be able to
collect in any other way.

He stooped and examined the pockets of the still figure. A bunch of keys
rewarded him. An old-fashioned safe stood in the corner back of the desk.
Doble stooped in front of it, then waited for an instant to make sure
nobody was coming. He fell to work, trying the keys one after another.

A key fitted. He turned it and swung open the door. The killer drew out
bundles of papers and glanced through them hurriedly. Deeds