“I think not,” the sheriff said. “I did not shoot.” “Gib him a leetle dram, Mister Johnnie,” Pap Curtain spoke up. “Go over to my office and get my flask, Pap,” the sheriff commanded, as he tossed Curtain his office keys, “You’ll find it on my desk.” Pap Curtain started after that flask at full speed. In the middle of the street, under the broken electric light, his foot struck a coarse canvas bag, he stumbled, fell headlong, butted a hitching post with a resounding whack and stayed right there. Ten minutes later the crowd found him, unconscious, clutching the office keys in his cold hand. One negro, a belated arrival, saw Pap Curtain fall. He ran to Pap’s rescue, but never arrived. His foot also struck that bag. Stooping, he picked it up, felt of its contents, recognized the familiar rattle of coins, and promptly departed, taking that bag with him lest some other person fall over it and get hurt. The sheriff had no sooner sent Pap Curtain after a flask than several were produced and tendered. The liquor, poured down the throat of Slatey, started a shudderlike cough and a bloody spume issued from the wounded man’s mouth. Then he spoke splutteringly: “You broke a rib and caved it through the only good lung I have, Mr. Officer. I guess you win.” “Where’s the money?” Flournoy demanded. “I--ah--” A shuddering, racking cough stopped all speech and the pitiful creature struggled as if he were never to breathe again. At last he spoke: “I’m suffering very much. Get a doctor--” “Where’s the money?” several men asked in a chorus. “That’s for you to find out,” the Skull answered, with a momentary flash of his old lawless spirit. Then weakly: “Get a doctor!” “Where’s the money?” Colonel Gaitskill asked, bending over Slatey. “Where’s the sawbones, Santa Claus?” Slatey mocked, coughing little flecks of blood off his lips. “Get a doctor!” Gaitskill commanded sharply, glaring at the crowd. Dr. Shuttle stepped forth, producing, with an important air, a pocket medical case containing a hypodermic needle and several vials of medicine. Dr. Shuttle was young and very ambitious. He quickly made a hypodermic injection into the Skull’s side. It eased the criminal’s pain. In fact he has never suffered since. In short, he died. “Where’s the money?” the sheriff demanded again, shaking the lifeless form. The Skull’s mouth drooped open in a grotesque imitation of a laugh. Slatey had nothing more to say. “Thunderation!” the sheriff exclaimed in a mighty voice. “Hunt around for that money-bag. This fellow did not get away with it.” Oil lanterns were quickly procured and the crowd searched the street, the alley, the lot in the rear and the neighboring places. They discovered nothing but the limp form of Pap Curtain. While the crowd was gathering around Curtain, from inside the store a mighty shout arose: “Here’s the other one, Flournoy!”