sibly to
shoot a dog. He has no dog. He intends shooting his wife. Don't argue
about how I know; there isn't time. Just take it for granted that I do.
I disabled the pistol--took out the firing pin--but if he finds out what
I did, he may get some other weapon. He's on his way home, but he's on
foot. If you hurry, you may get a man there before he arrives, and grab
him before he finds out the pistol won't shoot."

"O. K., Mr. Hartley. We'll take care of it. Thanks."

"And I wish you'd get my pistol back, as soon as you can. It's something
I brought home from the other War, and I shouldn't like to lose it."

"We'll take care of that, too. Thank you, Mr. Hartley."

He hung up, and carried the Luger and the loaded clip down to the porch.

* * * * *

"Look, Mr. Gutchall; here's how it works," he said, showing it to the
visitor. Then he slapped in the clip and yanked up on the toggle loading
the chamber. "It's ready to shoot, now; this is the safety." He pushed
it on. "When you're ready to shoot, just shove it forward and up, and
then pull the trigger. You have to pull the trigger each time; it's
loaded for eight shots. And be sure to put the safety back when you're
through shooting."

"Did you load the chamber?" Blake Hartley demanded.

"Sure. It's on safe, now."

"Let me see." His father took the pistol, being careful to keep his
finger out of the trigger guard, and looked at it. "Yes, that's all
right." He repeated the instructions Allan had given, stressing the
importance of putting the safety on after using. "Understand how it
works, now?" he asked.

"Yes, I understand how it works. Thank you, Mr. Hartley. Thank you, too,
young man."

Gutchall put the Luger in his hip pocket, made sure it wouldn't fall
out, and took his departure.

"You shouldn't have loaded it," Hartley _pere_ reproved, when he was
gone.

Allan sighed. This was it; the masquerade was over.

"I had to, to keep you from fooling with it," he said. "I didn't want
you finding out that I'd taken out the firing pin."

"You what?"

"Gutchall didn't want that gun to shoot a dog. He has no dog. He meant
to shoot his wife with it. He's a religious maniac; sees visions, hears
voices, receives revelations, talks with the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost
probably put him up to this caper. I'll submit that any man who holds
long conversations with the Deity isn't to be trusted with a gun, and
neither is any man who lies ab