ch other out there among the rocks and Spanish bayonets. Then the
two-gun man spoke, holding forth his right hand.

"I heard some parties were jumping your claim, Jim," said he, "and,
being near, I thought I'd come over and look out for you."

"Thanky," said Nigger Jim, but made no offer to take the extended
hand; nor did he turn his back upon the bad man, who evidently did not
think the claim worth the hazards of an honest gun-fight, for he left
soon afterward.

In Tombstone Nigger Jim kept silent regarding the incident, but the
news leaked out within a week or two when Buckskin Frank tried to slay
the black man from behind and was prevented by a woman who threw her
arms over him and held him until the prospective victim turned his
head and took in the situation. With the spread of the story Frank saw
that Tombstone was no place for him at present and he left the camp.
Whereby it happened that he was over in the San Simon on that hot day
when John Ringo came across the Dragoon Mountains. And on the morning
when the body was discovered he was riding through the pass on some
dubious errand or other.

News traveled slowly in those days. Frequently it came to its
destination sadly garbled. On this occasion young Billy Breckenbridge
was the only man who brought the facts back to Tombstone; and he
arrived there long after Buckskin Frank.

For the two-gun man had seen his opportunity to make men forget that
incident wherein he had figured so poorly against Nigger Jim, and had
spurred his pony all the way to the county seat, where he told his
story--how he had seen the desperado sitting under the dwarf
live-oaks, had stalked him as a man stalks big game, and shot him
through the head. And just to give his tale versimilitude he said he
had done the killing from behind.

The times were brisk; one shooting came so fast on the heels of its
predecessor that every affair in its turn swiftly passed from public
attention. By the time that Deputy Sheriff Breckenbridge arrived with
the facts people were turning their minds to the big Benson stage
hold-up. And so Buckskin Frank's story lived, and to this day in
speaking of that bad man the old-timers give him grudging credit for
having slain the big "He Wolf."

JOHN SLAUGHTER'S WAY

It was springtime in southwestern Texas and John Slaughter was
gathering a great herd near the mouth of Devil's River for the long
drive northward over the Pecos trail. Thousands of cattle w