y horse, and tell Colonel
Barrington. Let him understand there's no time to lose. Then you can
bring Stimson."

The tired lad hoisted himself into his saddle, and groaned a little as
he rode away, but he did his errand, and late that night Barrington and
Dane drove up to a lonely homestead. A man led them into a room where
a limp figure was lying on a bed.

"Been kind of sleeping most of the day, but the doctor has given him
something that has wakened him," he said.

Barrington returned Payne's greeting, and sat down with Dane close
beside him, while, when the wounded man raised his head, the doctor
spoke softly to the magistrate from the settlement a league or two away.

"I fancy he can talk to you, but you had better be quick if you wish to
ask him anything," he said.

Courthorne seemed to have heard him, for he smiled a little as he
glanced at Barrington. "I'm afraid it will hurt you to hear what I
have to tell this gentleman," he said. "Now, I want you to listen
carefully, and every word put down. Doctor, a little more brandy."

Barrington apparently would have spoken, but, while the doctor held a
glass to the bloodless lips, the magistrate, who took up a strip of
paper, signed to him.

"We'll have it in due form. Give him that book, doctor," he said.
"Now repeat after me, and then we'll take your testimony."

It was done, and a flicker of irony showed in Courthorne's half-closed
eyes.

"You feel more sure of me after that?" he said, in a voice that was
very faint and strained. "Still, you see, I could gain nothing by
deviating from the truth now. Well, I shot Trooper Shannon. You'll
have the date in the warrant. Don't know if it will seem strange to
you, but I forget it. I borrowed farmer Winston's horse and rifle
without his knowledge, though I had paid him a trifle to personate me
and draw the troopers off the whisky-runners. That was Winston's only
complicity. The troopers, who fancied they were chasing him, followed
me until his horse which I was riding went through the ice, but Winston
was in Montana at the time, and did not know that I was alive until a
very little while ago. Now, you can straighten that up and read it out
to me."

The magistrate's pen scratched noisily in the stillness of the room,
but, before he had finished, Sergeant Stimson, hot and dusty, came in.
Then he raised his hand, and for a while his voice rose and fell
monotonously, until Courthorne nodded.

"That's