He spoke authoritatively; but she slipped in ahead of him. Her arms fell softly over the bowed shoulders. Her cheek dropped to the dark, gray-streaked hair. There was little change, seemingly. The form was only a little more relaxed, the attitude only a little more helpless. It seemed as if he might have been sleeping. There was a sound, a faint drip, drip, drip, in the room. It was steady, monotonous, like drops falling, from rain pipes after the storm is over. Langford opened the door. “Doc! Doc Lockhart! Some one send Doc over here quick! Gordon’s office! Be quick about it!” he cried, in a loud, firm voice. Then he closed the door and locked it. In response to his call, footsteps were heard running. The door was tried. Then came loud knocking and voices demanding admittance. “No one can come in but Doc,” cried Langford through the keyhole. “Send him quick, somebody, for God’s sake! Where’s Jim Munson? He’ll get him here. Quick, I tell you!” He hastened back to the side of his friend and passed his hand gently over the right side to find the place whence came that heartbreaking drip. Disappointed in their desire to get in, men crowded before the window. Louise stepped softly forward and drew the blind between him and the mass of curious faces without. She was very pale, but quiet and self-possessed. She had rallied when Langford had whispered to her that Gordon’s heart was still beating. The doctor rapped loudly, calling to Langford to open. Paul admitted him and then stepped out in full sight of all, his hand still on the knob. The late moon was just rising. A faint light spread out before him. “Boys,” he cried, a great grief in his stern voice, “it’s murder. Dick Gordon’s murdered. Now get—you know what for—and be quick about it!” They laid him gently on the floor, took off his coat, and cut away the blood soaked shirts. Louise assisted with deft, tender hands. Presently, the heavy lids lifted, the gray eyes stared vacantly for a moment—then smiled. Paul bent over him. “What happened, old man?” the wounded man whispered gropingly. It required much effort to say this little, and a shadow of pain fell over his face. “Hush, Dick, dear boy,” said Langford, with a catch in his voice. “You’re all right now, but you mustn’t talk. You’re too weak. We are going to move you across to the hotel.” “But what happened?” he insisted. “You were shot, you know, Dick. Keep quiet, now! I’m going for a stretcher.” “Am I done for?” the weak voice kept on. But there was no fear in it. “You will be if you keep on talking like that” Obeying a sign from the doctor, he slipped away and out. Gordon closed his eyes and was still for a long time. His face was white and drawn with suffering. “Has he fainted?” whispered Louise. The eyes opened quickly. They fell upon Louise, who had not time to draw away. The shadow of the old, sweet smile came and hovered around his lips. “Louise,” he whispered.