hile his own weapon
lagged tardily half-way in its holster.

"I'm goin' to be a man again," said Texas. There was a positiveness in
his voice that awoke thoughts of death and violence.

"You damn----" began Buck.

"I'll count ten," said Texas frigidly. "If the money ain't on the table
then I reckon you won't care what becomes of it!"

"One!--Two!"

With a snarl of rage and hate Buck rose from his chair and sprang clear,
his gun flashing to a level with the movement, its savage roar
shattering the silence.

Texas did not wince as the heavy bullet struck him, but his face went
white. He had been a principal in more than one shooting affray, and
experience had taught him the value of instantaneous action. And so,
even with the stinging pain in his left shoulder, his hand swept his gun
lightly upward, and before it had reached a level he had begun to pull
the trigger. But to his astonishment only the metallic click, click of
the hammer striking the steel of the cylinder rewarded his efforts.
Once, twice, thrice; so rapidly that the metallic clicks blended.

And now he saw why he was to meet his death at the muzzle of Buck's gun.
Fearing him, Jim Webster had removed the cartridges from his weapon
before returning it to him that morning. He had committed a fatal error
in not examining it after he had received it from Webster's hand. The
Law, in judging him, had removed his chance of life.

But he smiled with bitter irony into Buck's eyes as the latter, still
snarling and relentless, deliberately shot again; once, twice.

* * * * *

According to the ancient custom--which has many champions--and to the
conventions--which are not to be violated with impunity--Texas should
have recovered from his wounds to return to Mary Jane and Socorro. No
narrative is complete without the entire vindication of the brave and
the triumph of the honorable. But to the chronicler belongs only the
simple task of true and conscientious record.

Therefore is the end written thus:

Came to Jim Webster's home in Socorro a week later a babbler from San
Marcial, who told a tale:

"There was a man by the name of Texas Rankin came down to San Marcial
last week an' went gunnin' for Buck Reible. Quickest thing you ever saw.
Buck peppered him so fast you couldn't count; an' I'm told Texas wasn't
no slouch with a gun, either."

"Dead?" questioned Webster.

"As a door nail," returned the babbler.

"Socorro's b