The big bottle was nearly emptied and Slack again threw himself on the bed, apparently oblivious of Jack's presence. After a few moments of quiet, the drunken man fell into a stupor, snoring heavily. Hamlin saw his chance to escape, but he realized that he was taking desperate chances. Were he to inadvertantly awaken the sleeper, he might be number four. Patiently waiting till the sleeper gave evidence of being soundly at rest, he made for the door, which he quickly opened and passed out, hastening with all speed for the friendly timber a quarter of a mile away. The night was clear, the moon shining brightly, like it does in the lofty Sierra Nevada Mountains, and Jack had reached the timber belt, when an awful shriek rang out upon the air, followed immediately by six rapidly fired shots. Looking backward, the tall form of Jim Slack could be seen coming down the snowy trail, and Jack accelerated his own speed. Again and again did the pursuer empty his revolver at the fleeing Hamlin, who could not hold his distance against this man of the mountains. The forest was growing thicker, and Jack saw his only chance for escape was to hide from his pursuer, so dodged quickly behind a huge fir tree, just as a sharp bend was made in the road. With bated breath he waited the coming of his pursuer who passed by three minutes later, gun in hand and shrieking and cursing like a demon. Jack watched him, following him as closely as he dared, till the little camp of Lundy was reached. Slack pursued his way to the hotel bar room, which was crowded with the usual habitues. It will always remain a mystery as to how the affair happened, but it is said that Jim Slack opened fire on his old enemy, Ed Clancy, who retreated, only to reappear in the rear, where he poured a volley into Slack. The latter fell, and, standing over the dying man, Clancy emptied his second gun into the prostrate body. The magistrate of the camp was a witness of the killing, and promptly exonerated Clancy from any blame. The following telegram was put on the wires immediately for the San Francisco papers. "James Slack, widely known as the 'Bad man from Bodie,' was killed in a pistol fight tonight by Edward Clancy. The killing was justifiable. Slack has relatives in San Francisco." About noon on the following day a message was received by the postmaster of Lundy reading: "San Francisco, California, July 15. "Please take care of James Slack's body till my arrival. I come on first train. Signed, His Mother." Four days later, the lumbering stage coach drew up in front of the hotel, and a little, old lady alighted. She was modestly attired and possessed a sweet, gentle face. "I am Mrs. Slack, the mother of James Slack, the man who was killed a few days ago. Where will I find his remains?" Every hat was doffed as the old lady passed out into the back room where laid all there was of James Slack.