led. Such desperadoes as Curly Bill were easy enough to read; just
rough-and-tumble cow-boys who had taken to whisky and bad company. But
behind the somber mask of John Ringo's face there lurked a hidden
history; something was there which he did not choose to reveal to the
rest of the world.

The mail had come to Galeyville after young Breckenbridge left. There
is nothing more conducive to confidences than a long ride through a
lonely country. And when these two were jogging across the wide, arid
reaches of the Sulphur Springs Valley the outlaw pulled a letter from
his pocket; the envelope was already broken. Evidently he had read its
contents before; now he scanned them for a long time and his dark face
was set. He thrust the paper back into its enclosure; then suddenly,
as one who yields to impulse, reined his pony closer to his companion
and held forth the envelope for him to read.

"Look at that writing," he said quietly.

The hand was unmistakably that of a woman of education.

"My sister," he added, and shoved the letter into his pocket.

They rode some distance in silence and then--

"And I'm here," John Ringo added in the same even voice. "She writes
me regularly. Thinks I'm doing fine!"

He did not bring up the subject again; it was as if he had opened a
curtain a little way and let it fall at once; but the deputy, who
came from good people himself, had been able to see much during that
brief glimpse into the outlaw's hidden life. And having seen those
tangled threads he was able to understand certain matters all the
better when the end came.

Now while Deputy Sheriff Breckenbridge and John Ringo were riding
toward Tombstone things were brewing in that wild young mining camp.
The law-and-order party was preparing to make a clean-up of the
desperadoes.

And when the pair arrived the news went forth; the hour was late, but
late hours meant little in those days of all-night gambling; a number
of the leaders gathered in Bob Hatch's saloon and discussed the
situation. It looked promising, for Ringo was the brains of the bad
men; with him in custody it should be easy to lay hands on Curly Bill,
who was at the time over in the lawless town of Charleston on the San
Pedro. They made their plans toward that end; and, just to make doubly
sure, they arranged with the district attorney to see that Ringo
should be kept in jail for at least twenty-four hours.

That was the situation when the pair arrived from no-m