ook out, Wrecks!"

He had been afraid to tell Randerson that it was Kelso who was facing
him, for fear that the information, bursting upon Randerson quickly,
would disconcert him.

But Randerson had been watching, understanding the drift of the gunman's
words. And when he saw the shoulder of his gun-arm move, his own right
hand dropped, surely, swiftly. Kelso's gun had snagged in its holster
years before. It came freely enough now. But its glitter at his side was
met by the roar and flame spurt of Randerson's heavy six, the thumb snap
on the hammer telling of the lack of a trigger spring, the position of
the weapon indicating that it had not been drawn from its holster.

Apparently not a man in the outfit had noticed this odd performance,
though they had been held with dumb astonishment over the rapidity with
which it had been executed. But they saw the red, venomous streak split
the night; they heard the gunman's gurgling gasp of amazement, and they
watched, with ashen faces, while he dropped his weapon, sagged oddly
forward and tumbled headlong into the sand near the fire. Then several of
them sprang forward to drag him back.

It had seemed that none of the men had noticed that Randerson had seemed
to shoot his pistol while it was still in the holster. One, however, had
noticed. It was Red Owen. And while the other men were pulling the gunman
back from the fire, Owen stepped close to Randerson, lifted the holster,
and examined it quickly. He dropped it, with a low exclamation of
astonishment.

"I was wonderin'--Holy smoke! It's a phony holster, fixed on the gun to
look like the real thing! An' swung from the belt by the trigger guard!
Lord, man! Did you know?"

"That Dorgan was Kelso?" said Randerson, with a cold smile. "I reckon. I
knowed him the day he asked for a job. An' I knowed what he come
for--figurin' on settlin' that grudge."

Randerson and Owen started toward the gunman, to determine how badly he
had been hit; they were met by Blair. There was amazement and incredulity
in the man's eyes.

"He's goin' to cash in--quick," he said. "You got him, pretty nearly
proper--just over the heart. But, but, he says he's Watt Kelso! An' that
that eastern dude, Masten, sent him over here--payin' him five hundred
cold, to perforate you!"

Randerson ran to where Kelso lay, gasping and panting for breath. He
knelt beside him.

"You talkin' straight, Kelso?" he asked. "Did Masten hire you to put me
out of busines