illed three men in the past on
as many different occasions.

Yet he was a sleek, well-groomed fellow, tall and slim, and, in
the matter of years, somewhere in his forties. Duff always dressed
well--with a foundation of the late styles of the east, with something
of the swagger of the plains added to his raiment.

"Stranger, you might as well hand me your money now," drawled Duff,
after a few moments had passed. "It'll save time."

"Your fly hasn't hopped yet," retorted the second man, with the air and
tone of one who could afford to lose thousands on such stupid bets.

The second man was of the kind on which Jim Duff fattened his purse.
Clarence Farnsworth, about twenty-five years of age, was as verdant a
"tenderfoot" as had lately graced Paloma, Arizona, with his presence.

Even the name of Clarence had moved so many men to laughter in this
sweltering little desert town that Farnsworth had lately chopped his
name to "Clare." Yet this latter had proved even worse; it sounded too
nearly like a girl's name.

So far as his financial condition went, Clarence had the look of one
who possessed money to spend. He was well-dressed, lived at the Mansion
House, often hired automobiles, entertained his friends lavishly, and
was voted a good enough fellow, though a simpleton.

"My fly's growing skittish, stranger," smiled Jim Duff. "He's on the
point of moving. You'd better whisper to your fly."

"I believe, friend," rejoined Clarence, "that my fly is taking nap. He
appears to be sound asleep. You certainly picked the more healthy fly."

Jim Duff gave his barber an all but imperceptible nudge in one elbow.
Though he gave no sign in return, that barber understood, and shifted
his shears in a way that, even at distance, alarmed the fly on the
mirror before Duff.

"Buzz-zz!" The fly in front of the gambler took wing and vanished toward
the rear of the store.

Some of the Arizona men looking on smiled knowingly. They had realized
from the start that young Farnsworth had stood no show of winning the
stupid wager.

"You win," stated young Clarence, in a tone that betrayed no annoyance.

Drawing a roll of bills from his pocket, he fumbled until he found a
twenty. This he passed to Duff, sitting in the next chair.

"You're not playing in luck to-day," smiled Duff gently, as he tucked
away the money in one of his coat pockets. "You're a good sportsman,
Farnsworth, at any rate."

"I flatter myself that I am," replied Claren