* * * * * Where was Red Cowan, he wondered? Where had he gone? He was obliged to use both hands to cock the Colt. Red Cowan. That was what he wanted. The man with the flame-colored hair. There was no gratitude for what Red had done for him. No thought of the days and nights of nursing. The law must be satisfied, and Duty Deming was the law. He went stumbling across the uneven ground, sagging at the knees, his head swinging from side to side, almost trailing the cocked revolver in his right hand; fighting, fighting all the while. Then he saw his quarry just at the corner of the old stable. It was Red Cowan, looking at him. The big Colt swung up and his finger tightened on the trigger. The recoil jerked the gun from his hands and he almost fell. He did not look for the gun. One shot had been enough. He hunched one shoulder against the old stable wall, gasping for breath. The law had been satisfied. He closed his eyes for a moment. The devils were still hammering on his brain, but above it all he could hear another sound; a thump, thump, thump of horses walking. Slowly he opened his eyes and tried to see what the blurred thing was. He knew it was a man on a horse, although his eyes did not register the figures. “Jim Deming!” said a voice. “For God’s sake, Jim!” It was Joe Mills, the ex-deputy. “Don’t yuh know me, Jim?” he asked. “This is Joe Mills.” “I know,” whispered Deming. “Yuh quit me.” “Aw, forget that. We’ve been huntin’ all over the country for you, Jim; and I----” “I had to do my duty,” whispered Deming. He lifted his right hand with a supreme effort and pointed a finger waveringly. “That’s Red Cowan,” he said. “Yo’re crazy!” blurted the deputy. “That ain’t Red Cowan.” For several moments the sheriff did not move. His face twisted strangely. “You say that ain’t Red Cowan?” he whispered hoarsely. “Of course not, you danged fool.” “Don’t lie to me, Joe! My God, don’t lie.” “I ain’t lyin’, Jim. Yo’re crazy, I tell yuh. Of course this ain’t Red Cowan. I know Red.” For a moment the sheriff’s head sagged heavily, but he swung himself away from the stable, started toward the house on uncertain legs, but collapsed, falling flat on his face. “Now, wouldn’t that rasp yuh!” snorted the deputy, as he swung off his horse and walked over to the prostrate sheriff. He picked him up and took him to the shade, where he laid him on the ground. Something about the sheriff caused the deputy to make a quick examination. “I’ll be totally darned!” he said slowly. Then he turned his head and saw Red Cowan, riding in from beyond the stable; riding a bareback horse and leading another. “Hello, Mills!” yelled Cowan. “Where’d you come from?” “C’mere,” said the ex-deputy, and Cowan rode up to him. “By golly, I thought I should have tied him down,” said Cowan. “He’s dead,” said Mills slowly.