ler lay on the sidewalk, Reade bent over him.

"Duff," said Reade gravely, "you and I haven't always been the best
of friends, but I can say honestly that I'm sorry to see you in this
plight. I hope that you may recover, yet get some happiness out of
life."

But the gambler's eyes blazed with ferocity.

"Don't waste any soft soap on me, Reade," he said slowly, and with many
pauses. "The Doc is a fool. I'm going to get well, and there will be
just one happiness ahead of me. That will be to find you, wherever you
may be, and to what I tried to do to you to-night."

"Can't you forget that sort of thing, Duff?" asked Tom gravely. "Not
that I'm afraid of you; you've seen enough of me to-night to know that
I'm not afraid of you. But I'm afraid for you. You're close to eternity,
Duff, and I'd like to see you go to your death with a calm, hopeful,
decent mind. I'd like to see you go with a hope of a better life
hereafter."

"Don't give me any of your canting talk, Reade," snarled the gambler
weakly.

"I'm not going to do so," sighed Tom, rising. "I'm afraid it would be
useless. Try to remember, Duff, that I allow myself to have no hard
feelings against you. If you possibly can recover I shall be glad to
hear that you've done so."

Then Tom stepped over to Dr. Furniss' side, whispering to him:

"Doc, you'll see to it that some clergyman is called, won't you? Any
clergyman that is the most likely to reach the heart and the soul of a
hardened fellow like Jim Duff."

Dr. Furniss nodded. Men appeared with an old door that was to be used as
a stretcher. On this the gambler was placed, and the physician gave him
such immediate attention as could be supplied on the sidewalk, for Jim
Duff had been shot through the right lung. Then the bearers lifted the
door, bearing the gambler back to the now gloomy Mansion House,
the doctor following. Ashby, who had been strangely quiet after the
shooting, was taken to the local police station and placed in a cell.

Just after the two had been taken care of, and while the crowd still
lingered, a young man pushed his way through to the center of the crowd.

"I heard that Jim Duff had returned to town," began the young man. The
speaker was Clarence Farnsworth, the foolish young easterner who had
been sadly fleeced by the gambler.

"Yes; Duff came back," said Mr. Hawkins, quietly.

"Where is he?" asked Farnsworth. "I must leave in the morning, and I owe
Duff seven hundred dollars. I want