t at the thought
of his old friend lying dead, all alone, in the station. His first
impulse was to turn back to Florence and surrender himself to the
Sheriff. Had this entailed punishment of himself alone, he would have
done it but he still retained a blind loyalty in his associate and
principal in the crime. Murder, it seemed, was to be expected when one
took the law in his own hands to right an injustice. He didn't clearly
understand it. It was his first experience with a killing. The
heartlessness of McKee both awed and horrified him. Evidently the
half-breed was used to such actions. It appeared to be entirely
justified in his code. So Bud followed in dull silence the masterful
man who had involved him in the fearful deed.

When they dismounted, however, his pent-up emotion burst forth.

"You said there would be no killing," he gasped, passing his hand
wearily across his forehead as if to wipe out the memory of the crime.

"Well, what did the old fool pull his gun for?" grumbled McKee
petulantly, as if Terrill was the aggressor in the encounter.

Bud threw himself wearily on the ground.

"I'd give the rest of my life to undo to-day's work," he groaned,
speaking more to himself than to his companion.

McKee heard him. His anger began to arise. If Bud weakened detection
was certain. Flight back to Texas must be started without delay. If
he could strengthen the will of the boy either by promise of reward or
fear of punishment, the chances of detection would lessen as the days
passed.

"And that would be about twenty-four hours if you don't keep quiet.
Why didn't he put up his hands when I hollered? He starts to wrastle
and pull gun, and I had to nail him." McKee shuddered spite of his
bravado.

Pulling himself together with an apparent effort, he continued: "We'll
hold the money for a spell--not spend a cent of it till this thing
blows over--they'll never get us. Here, we'll divide it."

"Keep it all. I never want to touch a penny of it," said Bud
earnestly, moving along the ground to place a greater distance between
him and the murderer.

"Thanks. But you don't git out of your part of the hold-up that easy.
Take your share, or I'll blow it into you," said McKee, pulling his
revolver.

Bud, with an effort, arose and walked over to Buck. With clenched
fists, in agonized tones, he cried: "Shoot, if you want to. I wish
I'd never seen you--you dragged me into this--you made me your
acco