ssociation nominated Beaudry for
sheriff and elected him. He had prosecuted the thieves remorselessly
in spite of threats and shots in the dark. Two of them had been put by
him behind bars. Others were awaiting trial. The climax had come when
he met Anse Rutherford and his companion at Battle Butte, had defeated
them both single-handed, and had left one dead on the field and the
other badly wounded.

Men said that John Beaudry was one of the great sheriffs of the West.
Perhaps he was, but he would have to pay the price that such a
reputation exacts. The Rutherford gang had sworn his death and he knew
they would keep the oath.

The man sat with one hand resting on the slim body of the sleeping boy.
His heart was troubled. What was to become of little Royal without
either father or mother? After the manner of men who live much alone
in the open he spoke his thoughts aloud.

"Son, one of these here days they're sure a-goin' to get yore dad.
Maybe he'll ride out of town and after a while the hawss will come
galloping back with an empty saddle. A man can be mighty unpopular and
die of old age, but not if he keeps bustin' up the plans of rampageous
two-gun men, not if he shoots them up when they're full of the devil
and bad whiskey. It ain't on the cyards for me to beat them to the
draw every time, let alone that they'll see to it all the breaks are
with them. No, sir. I reckon one of these days you're goin' to be an
orphan, little son."

He stooped over the child and wrapped the blankets closer. The muscles
of his tanned face twitched. Long he held the warm, slender body of
the boy as close to him as he dared for fear of wakening him.

The man lay tense and rigid, his set face staring up into the starry
night. It was his hour of trial. A rising tide was sweeping him away.
He had to clutch at every straw to hold his footing. But something in
the man--his lifetime habit of facing the duty that he saw--held him
steady.

"You got to stand the gaff, Jack Beaudry. Can't run away from your
job, can you? Got to go through, haven't you? Well, then!"

Peace came at last to the tormented man. He fell asleep. Hours later
he opened his eyes upon a world bathed in light. It was such a brave
warm world that the fears which had gripped him in the chill night
seemed sinister dreams. In this clear, limpid atmosphere only a sick
soul could believe in a blind alley from which there was no escape.

But facts are