in agony. And then the ranger, knowing his life was measured by minutes, had striven to set down a message that would reveal the identity of the man who had shot him.

In the scene as reënacted in Otis’ mind, Fyffe fumbled with stiffening fingers at his shirt pocket, searching for the stub of his pencil. Fighting down his agony, he scrawled his damning indictment of Otis—his friend!

And Otis, still standing there, bent forward, staring down at the floor, seemed to see the ranger’s body suddenly go limp, the pencil dropping from nerveless fingers. And then the pool of blood slowly widening under the motionless body.

“Otis Carr shot me because—”

What would the rest of the sentence have been? What if Ranger Fyffe’s heart had pulsed a few more beats? What would he have written?

And why—why had he written that Otis Carr shot him, when Otis had been fifteen miles from the ranger station throughout the night?

Gradually Otis became conscious of his surroundings again. He straightened, and looked from the Sheriff to his deputy, and back again. He saw nothing in their gaze but cold conviction of his guilt.

Why didn’t they say something? Why did they stand there, silent and impeaching? They had him on the defensive, at their mercy. He cleared his throat to speak, with no definite idea of what he would say. But the words would not come, and the sounds that issued from his lips were stammering and unintelligible. At last he made an awkward little gesture of helplessness with his hands, and dropped his head.

Sheriff Ogden, without taking his eyes from Otis, spoke to his deputy.

“Take his gun,” he directed shortly. Otis remained motionless while Markey lifted the weapon from its holster, and rapidly passed his hands over Otis’ body in search of other arms.

The deputy glanced at the revolver and turned it over to the Sheriff with the remark: “Been fired twice.”

“How come, Otis?” asked the Sheriff, not unkindly, but with the air of one with an unpleasant duty to perform.

Otis suddenly found his voice.

“Shot at a rattler, just before I reached the Buffalo Forks road.”

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