er, scrambling toward the
wall of the cabin--reaching it on all fours and crouching there, gun in
hand--waiting.

He had heard no sound from the man, nor did the latter appear. The
silence within the cabin was as deep as it had been just an instant
before the exchange of shots.

There was a window in the rear wall of the cabin--a kitchen window.
There was another on the opposite side--the dining-room. There was a
front door and two windows on the side Nyland was on.

Two courses were open for Nyland. He could gain entrance to the house
through one of the windows or the front door, thereby running the risk
of making a target of himself, or he could stay on the outside and wait
for the man to come out--which he would have to do some time.

Nyland decided to remain where he was. For a long time he crouched
against the wall and nothing happened. Then, growing impatient, he
moved stealthily around the rear corner, stole to the rear window, and
peered inside.

It took him long to prepare for the look--he accomplished the action in
an instant--a flashing glance. A gun roared close to his head, the
flash blinding him; the glass tinkling on the ground at his feet.

But Nyland had not been hit, and he grinned felinely as he dropped to
the ground, slipped under the window, and ran around the house.
Ducking under the side window he ran around to the front. From the
front window he could look through the house, and he saw the man, gun
in hand, watching the side door.

Nyland took aim through the window, but just as he was about to pull
the trigger of the weapon the man moved stealthily toward the door--out
of Nyland's vision.

Evidently the man considered the many windows to be a menace to his
safety, and had determined to go outside, where he would have an equal
chance with his intended victim.

Grinning coldly, Nyland moved to the corner of the house nearest the
kitchen door. The man stepped out of the door, and at the instant
Nyland saw him he was looking toward the rear of the house.

Nyland laughed--aloud, derisively. He did not want to shoot the man in
the back.

At Nyland's laugh the man wheeled, snapping a shot from his hip. He
was an instant too late, though, for with the man's wheeling movement
Nyland's gun barked death to him.

He staggered, the gun falling from his loosening fingers, his hands
dropped to his sides, and he sagged forward inertly, plunging into the
dust in front of the kitchen doo