man you would have made a
great undertaker, do you know that?" Kennedy, slapping his leg, showed
his ivory teeth. "You have such an instinct for funerals," added
Whispering Smith.

"Now, Mr. Smith! Well, who are we waiting for? I'm ready," said
Kennedy, taking out his revolver and examining it.

McCloud put on his new hat and asked if he should take a gun. "You are
really accompanying me as my guest, George," explained Whispering
Smith reproachfully. "Won't it be fun to shove this man right under Du
Sang's nose and make him bat his eyes?" he added to Kennedy. "Well,
put one in your pocket if you like, George, provided you have one that
will go off when sufficiently urged."

McCloud opened the drawer of the table and took from it a revolver.
Whispering Smith reached out his hand for the gun, examined it, and
handed it back.

"You don't like it."

Smith smiled a sickly approbation. "A forty-five gun with a
thirty-eight bore, George? A little light for shock; a _little_ light.
A bullet is intended to knock a man down; not necessarily to kill him,
but, if possible, to keep him from killing you. Never mind, we all
have our fads. Come on!"

At the foot of the stairs Whispering Smith stopped. "Now I don't know
where we shall find this man, but we'll try the Three Horses." As they
started down the street McCloud took the inside of the sidewalk, but
Smith dropped behind and brought McCloud into the middle. They failed
to find Du Sang at the Three Horses, and leaving started to round up
the street. They visited many places, but each was entered in the same
way. Kennedy sauntered in first and moved slowly ahead. He was to step
aside only in case he saw Du Sang. McCloud in every instance followed
him, with Whispering Smith just behind, amiably surprised. They spent
an hour in and out of the Front Street resorts, but their search was
fruitless.

"You are sure he is in town?" asked Kennedy. The three men stood
deliberating in the shadow of a side street.

"Sure!" answered Whispering Smith. "Of course, if he turns the trick
he wants to get away quietly. He is lying low. Who is that, Farrell?"
A man passing out of the shadow of a shade tree was crossing Fort
Street a hundred feet away.

"It looks like our party," whispered Kennedy. "No, stop a bit!" They
drew back into the shadow. "That is Du Sang," said Kennedy; "I know
his hobble."

CHAPTER XVII

A TEST

Du Sang had the sidewise gait of a wolf, and crossed