Nesbitt looked up half absently from his writing. "Afternoon," he greeted. "Better take your derringer. Don't know what might happen." King shrugged himself into the talma cape, which he usually wore on the streets. It is doubtful if he heard Nesbitt's warning. With a nod to Gerberding he sauntered slowly out, enjoying the mellow spring sunshine, filtering now and then through wisps of fog. As he turned into Montgomery street he almost collided with Benito Windham, who, brief case under arm, was striding rapidly southward. They exchanged a cordial greeting. Benito looked after the tall courtly figure crossing Montgomery street diagonally toward a big express wagon. Benito thought he could discern a quick nervous movement back of it. A man stepped out, directly across King's path. He was James P. Casey, tremendously excited. His right hand shook violently. His hat was on one side of his head; he was apparently intoxicated. King did not notice him until they were almost abreast. Casey's arm was outstretched, pointed at King's breast. "Draw and defend yourself," he said loudly. He shut his eyes and a little puff of smoke seemed to spring from the ends of his fingers, followed in the fraction of a second by a sharp report. Benito ran with all his might toward the men. He did not think that King was hit, for the editor turned toward the Pacific Express office. On the threshold he stumbled. A clerk ran out and caught the tall figure as it collapsed. Benito looked about for King's assailant. He saw a group of men on Washington street, but was unable to distinguish Casey among them, though McGowan's lanky form was visible. At Benito's feet lay a pocket-memorandum marked with a splash of red. The young man picked it up and read: "Piano for Annie. "Crayons for Joe. "Candy--" A man with a medicine case shouldered his way in. He was Dr. Hammond. "Get a basin," he ordered, "some warm water." He unbuttoned the wounded man's coat, looking grave as he saw the spreading red stain on his shirt. "Will he get well, doctor?" shouted a dozen voices. [Illustration: "Draw and defend yourself," he said loudly. He shut his eyes and a little puff of smoke seemed to spring from the end of his fingers, followed ... by a sharp report.] "Can't tell ... 'fraid not," Hammond answered, and a sympathetic silence followed his announcement. Someone cried: "Where's Casey?" Word came that Casey was in jail. "He gave himself up," a man said. Presently there was a sound of carriage wheels. A white-faced woman made her way to the express office. The crowd stood with bared heads as it opened a way for her passage. The woman was Mrs. King. They heard her sobbing. Gerberding and Nesbitt came and made their exit after a short stay. Tears ran down Nesbitt's cheeks. "I told him so," they heard him muttering, "I told him so.... He wouldn't listen.... Didn't take his pistol."