the hill and had fooled me into thinking you didn't find a thing on him.
Here's the money, Bill. I wouldn't take it away from you. Lock it in
your safe again--if you can!"

The half-breed flung the roll of bills in Talpers's face. The trader,
made desperate by fear, flung himself toward McFann. If he could pinion
the half-breed's arms to his side, there could be but one outcome to the
struggle that had been launched. The trader's great weight and
grizzly-like strength would be too much for the wiry half-breed to
overcome. But McFann slipped easily away from Talpers's clutching hands.
The trader brought up against the mailing desk with a crash that shook
the entire building. The heat of combat warmed his chilled veins.
Courage returned to him with a rush. He roared oaths as he righted
himself and dragged his revolver from the holster on his hip.

Before the trader's gun could be brought to a shooting level, paralysis
seemed to seize his arm. Fire seared his side and unbearable pain
radiated therefrom. Only the fighting man's instinct kept him on his
feet. His knees sagged and his arm drooped slowly, despite his desperate
endeavors to raise that blue-steel weapon to its target. He saw the
half-breed, smiling and defiant, not three paces away, but seemingly in
another world. There was a revolver in McFann's hand, and faint tendrils
of smoke came from the weapon.

Grimly setting his jaws and with his lips parted in a mirthless grin,
Talpers crossed his left hand to his right. With both hands he tried to
raise the revolver, but it only sank lower. His knees gave way and he
slid to the floor, his back to his new safe and his swarthy skin showing
a pale yellow behind his sparse, curling black beard.

"Put the money away, Bill, put it away, quick," said McFann's mocking
voice. "There it is, under your knee. You sold out your pardner for
it--now hide it in your new safe!"

Talpers's cracked lips formed no reply, but his little black eyes glowed
balefully behind their dark, lowering brows.

"You're good at shooting down harmless Indians, Bill," jeered McFann,
"but you're too slow in a real fight. Any word you want to send to the
Indian agent? I'm going to tell him I believe you did the murder on the
Dollar Sign road."

A last flare of rage caused Talpers to straighten up. Then the paralysis
came again, stronger than before. The revolver slipped from the trader's
grasp, and his head sank forward until his chin rested on hi