rely squelch the newspaper
instinct of the Tribune's editor. Never before had he had such an
opportunity and he made the best of it, even repeating the vague
surmises which had linked the name of Abigail to the murder of Reginald
Paynter.

Jonas Prim was too busy and too worried to pay any attention to the
Tribune or its editor. He already had the best operative that the best
detective agency in the nearest metropolis could furnish. The man had
come to Oakdale, learned all that was to be learned there, and forthwith
departed.

This, then, will be about all concerning Oakdale for the present. We
must leave her to bury her own dead.

The sudden pressure of the knife point against the breast of the
Oskaloosa Kid awakened the youth with a startling suddenness which
brought him to his feet before a second vicious thrust reached him. For
a time he did not realize how close he had been to death or that he had
been saved by the chance location of the automatic pistol in his breast
pocket--the very pistol he had taken from the dressing table of Abigail
Prim's boudoir.

The commotion of the attack and escape brought the other sleepers to
heavy-eyed wakefulness. They saw Dopey Charlie advancing upon the Kid,
a knife in his hand. Behind him slunk The General, urging the other on.
The youth was backing toward the doorway. The tableau persisted but for
an instant. Then the would-be murderer rushed madly upon his victim, the
latter's hand leaped from beneath the breast of his torn coat--there was
a flash of flame, a staccato report and Dopey Charlie crumpled to the
ground, screaming. In the same instant The Oskaloosa Kid wheeled and
vanished into the night.

It had all happened so quickly that the other members of the gang,
awakened from deep slumber, had only time to stumble to their feet
before it was over. The Sky Pilot, ignoring the screaming Charlie,
thought only of the loot which had vanished with the Oskaloosa Kid.

"Come on! We gotta get him," he cried, as he ran from the barn after
the fugitive. The others, all but Dopey Charlie, followed in the wake of
their leader. The wounded man, his audience departed, ceased screaming
and, sitting up, fell to examining himself. To his surprise he
discovered that he was not dead. A further and more minute examination
disclosed the additional fact that he was not even badly wounded. The
bullet of The Kid had merely creased the flesh over the ribs beneath his
right arm. With a grunt