osition that stirs the deep-buried, inherent instinct that is
nothing more or less than a sense of duty--that deep-lying sense of
obligation that makes the whole world beautiful and justifiable--they
simply stand up and face it. No normal young man likes war. Yet they all
go. And of course this work to-night promised excitement--and the love
of excitement is a siren that has drawn many a good man to his doom.

"Good," the sheriff told me simply, not in the least surprised. "What
kind of a gun can you scare up?"

"I can get a gun, all right. I've got a pistol of my own."

Nopp came up then, and he and the sheriff exchanged significant glances.
And the northern man suddenly turned to me, about to speak.

Until that instant I hadn't observed the record that the events of the
past three nights had written in his face. Nopp had nerves of steel;
but the house and its mystery had got to him, just the same. The sunset
rays slanted in over the veranda, poured through the big windows, and
showed his face in startling detail. The inroads that had been made upon
it struck me with a sudden sense of shock.

The man looked older. The lines of his face seemed more deeply graven,
the flesh-sacks were swollen under his eyes, he was some way shaken and
haggard. Yet you didn't get the idea of impotence. The hands at his side
had a man's grasp in them. Nopp was still able to handle most of the
problems that confronted him.

Slatterly, too, had not escaped unscathed. The danger and his own
failure to solve the mystery had killed some of the man's conceit, and
he was more tolerant and sympathetic. There was a peculiar, excited
sparkle in his eyes, too.

Slatterly turned to Nopp. "He says he's got a pistol."

The second that ensued had an unmistakable quality of drama. Nopp turned
to me, exhaling heavily. "Killdare, we've beat the devil around the
stump all along--and it's time to stop," he said. "I don't like to talk
like a crazy man, but we've got to look this infernal matter in the
face. When you come out to-night come armed with the biggest gun you can
find--a high-powered rifle."

No man argued with another, at a time like this. "I don't know where I
can get a rifle," I told him.

"Every man in the house has got some kind or another. I'm going to be
frank and tell you what I'm carrying--a big .405, the biggest
quick-shooting arm I could get hold of. Whatever comes to-night--we've
got to stop."

We gathered again at the big ma