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"Don't you blame yourself for not putting his lights out. How

could you tell who he was?"

"I knew he was a ruffian, hide and hair."

"But you thought he was her brother and that's a whole lot

different. What do you say to grubbing here? We've got to go to

the Halle ranch for hawsses and it's a long jog."

They lit a fire and over their coffee discussed plans. In the

midst of these the Southerner picked up idly a piece of

wrapping-paper. Upon it was pencilled a wavering scrawl:

Bleeding has broke out again. Can't stop it. Struve shot me and

left me for dead ten miles back. I didn't kill the guard or know

he meant to. J. KINNEY.

Neill handed the paper to the ranger, who read it through, folded

it, and gave it back to the other.

"Keep that paper. We may need it." His grave eyes went up the

trail to where the dark figure lay motionless in the cold

moonlight. "Well, he's come to the end of the trail--the only end

he could have reached. He wasn't strong enough to survive as a

bad man. Poor devil!"