cartridges, the weapon
being therefore undischargeable. It was evident that the point had been
first broken off and the fracture cunningly ground smoothly round so as
to avoid detection. And it was whispered significantly among the C Bar
boys that Braun's gun had hung for the better-part of a day in the ranch
blacksmith shop while he was employed on a distant irrigation ditch, and
that Matlock had been refurbishing some branding Irons in the smithy
during the interim. And one of the boys who had been friendly with the
dead man found on the edge of the grindstone a deeply-cut indentation
such as is made by the bite of casehardened steel.

It was now ten o'clock and Matlock had not put in his appearance; the
smoke-dimmed atmosphere was heavy with expectancy but Douglass sat
unconcernedly rolling cigarettes, occasionally making a bet and
exchanging the rude badinage inseparable from the game. His face was
sphinx-like in its immobility but the cold lethality of his eyes was
apparent even to the inexperienced tenderfoot, who was growing strangely
uncomfortable for some indefinable reason. The raucous clamor of the
preceding hours had become unaccountably subdued and the soft flutter of
the cards as they were dealt was distinctly heard. A sudden gust of wind
slammed the insecurely fastened door with a sharp bang and a man sprang
quickly behind the precarious shelter of the stove; even Williams
stiffened perceptibly in his chair. The C Bar men had their hands on the
butts of their revolvers. The gray-eyed man alone smiled contemptuously
at the disconcerted fellow grinning behind the stove and said
humorously:

"Better take a little bromide, Jim. This night air is hell on the
nerves."

The tenderfoot was wavering between a conviction that it was time to go
home and a morbid inclination to stay and see what all this portended.
Impelled by an irresistible impulse, he went over and sat down beside
Douglass, who courteously shoved back the chair for his better
convenience. It was the one just vacated by the man behind the stove.

Then of a sudden it happened. In through the door walked Matlock, his
bloated face working ominously and an evil glitter in his closely-set
eyes. The player opposite Douglass, immediately between him and the
newcomer, rose with exaggerated deliberation and strolled over to the
counter, asking for a match. There was a perfect litter of matches on
the table about the very respectable heap of chips and c