ve credence to the certainty that was shaping
itself--and yet the conviction had been born and could not be thrust
back into the womb of the unborn. All of Rowlett's friendliness and
loyalty had been only an alibi! It had been Rowlett who had led him,
unsuspecting, into ambush!

Maggard's coat and pistol-holster hung at the headboard of his bed. Now
with a cat-soft tread upon the creaking puncheons of the floor Rowlett
approached them. He paused first, bending to look searchingly down at
the white face on the pillow, and the eyes in that face remained almost
but not quite closed. The hand that rested outside the coverlet, too,
lay still and limp like a dead hand.

Reassured by these evidences of unconsciousness, Bas Rowlett drew a
deep breath of satisfaction. The diabolical thought had come to him that
by shaking the prone figure he could cause a hemorrhage that would
assure death--and the evil fire in his eyes as his hands stole out
toward his intended victim betrayed his reflection.

The seemingly insensible listener, with a Spartan effort, held his pale
face empty of betrayal as the two impulsive hands came closer.

But as quickly the arms drew back, and the expression clouded with
doubt.

"No...." reflected Bas without words. "No, hit ain't needful nohow ...
an' Jase Burrell mout detect I'd done hit."

The bending figure straightened again and its hands began calmly rifling
the pockets of the wounded man's coat.

Through the narrow slits of eyes that dissembled sleep Maggard watched,
while Rowlett opened and recognized the threatening letter that had been
nailed to the door. The purloiner nodded, and his lips twisted into a
smile of triumph, as he thrust the sheet of paper into his own pocket.

No longer now could there remain any vestige of doubt in Maggard's
mind--no illusion of mistaking the true for the untrue, and in the
vengeful fury that blazed eruptively through him he forgot the hurt of
his wounding.

He could not rise from his bed and give battle. Had the other not
reconsidered his diabolical impulse to shake him into a fatal hemorrhage
he could not even have defended himself. His voice, in all likelihood,
would not carry to the door of the next room--if indeed any one were
there.

Physically, he was defenseless and inert, but all of him beyond the
flesh was galvanized into quicksilver acuteness and determination. He
was praying for a reprieve of life sufficient to call this Judas friend
to an