s cartridge-belt.

"No. Why?"

There was no reply. Smith had taken a rifle from the rack and was
examining the firing mechanism. He worked the lever for a moment with
lightning-like speed, laid the gun on the bed, and sat down beside
it.

"You would hardly believe, George, how I hate to go after Murray
Sinclair. I've known him all my life. His folks and mine lived across
the street from one another for twenty years. Which is the older?
Murray is five years older than I am; he was always a big, strong,
good-looking fellow." Whispering Smith put his hands on the side of
the bed. "It is curious how you remember things that happened when you
were a boy, isn't it? I thought of something to-night I hadn't thought
of for twenty years. A little circus came to town. While they were
setting up the tent the lines for the gasolene tank got fouled in the
block at the top of the centre pole. The head canvasman offered a
quarter to any boy that would climb the pole and free the block. One
boy after another tried it, but they couldn't climb half-way up. Then
Murray sailed in. I was seven years old and Murray was twelve, and he
wore a vest. He gave me the vest to hold while he went up. I felt like
a king. There was a lead-pencil in one pocket, beautifully sharpened,
and I showed it to the other boys. Did he make good? He always made
good," said Whispering Smith gloomily. "The canvasman gave him the
quarter and two tickets, and he gave one of the tickets to me. I got
to thinking about that to-night. As boys, Murray and I never had a
quarrel." He stopped. McCloud said nothing, and, after an interval,
Smith spoke again:

"He was an oracle for all the small boys in town, and could advise us
on any subject on earth--whether he knew anything about it or nothing
about it made no difference. I told him once I wanted to be a
California stage-robber, and he replied without an instant's
hesitation that I ought to begin to practise running. I was so upset
at his grasp of the subject that I hadn't the nerve to ask him why I
needed to practise running to be a stage-robber. I was ashamed of
appearing green and to this day I've never understood what he meant.
Whether it was to run after the stage or to run away from it I
couldn't figure out. Perhaps my being too proud to ask the question
changed my career. He went away for a long time, and we heard he was
in the Black Hills. When he came back, my God! what a hero he was."

Bob Scott knocked at t