“That’s no place for her, Tony. I don’t want her to know anythin’ about what’s happenin’ today. You git behind me now and we’ll crawl over to Kent. Look out; he may not be dead. He lost his rifle, but he may have a pistol on him.” “No need be afraid,” Tony assured Johnny. “I tak’ good aim.” When they found Kent he was propped against a rock with a pistol in his hand, but he was so far gone that he could not lift his arm to fire. “Go ’way,” he muttered. “Let me die in peace.” “No, Kent,” answered Johnny. “Too many things have happened today to go without a word with you. With all your faults I know you love Molly. I’ve got to talk. Gale has been killed. He told the truth about you and Gallup and Traynor. There’s a posse surroundin’ Gallup. They’ll git him if Thunder Bird don’t.” “You lyin’?” the old man questioned. “I’ll prove that I ain’t,” the boy replied, and he retold part of Gale’s story. “You win,” Kent said at last. “I never should have opposed you. But I ain’t afraid to die. Best that I do, I guess. Molly is against me. You killed her love for me—and she did love me. Yes, she did! Won’t you fix it some way, Johnny, so that she won’t know all—that—that she wasn’t my girl? “I ain’t taken a penny of her money. In fact, I’ve doubled what I got out of the mine. It’s all hers. Gallup’s got my notes for thirty thousand. He won’t be able to collect. That’s good, ain’t it—beatin’ him? “He shot ‘Cross.’ Got him from the top of one of those box cars while I was tryin’ to make an alibi for myself by sittin’ in Ritter’s office. Think of him turnin’ on me after what we’d been through—tryin’ to take Molly. God, I’m glad she’s free of him! Tell her you and me made it up, Johnny—that I said I hoped you two’d be happy. Will you do that?” The old man tried to lift his arm beseechingly. “Don’t let her know about me—don’t tell her she wasn’t my child,” he begged. “I raised her, Johnny—her little baby hands. I can feel them.” In spite of Johnny’s efforts Kent forced himself half erect. “You’ve got to promise me, do you hear?” he went on. “I couldn’t die if I thought she was goin’ to know. I couldn’t, I tell you—I—I—couldn’t.” He fell back before the boy could catch him. Madeiras put his ear to the man’s chest. “He’s gone,” Johnny whispered to the Basque. “Yes, sir, the old man’s gone! There’s all that’s left of Jackson Kent. Two months ago who’d ever have thought it would come to this?” Johnny got to his feet and walked to a bowlder and sat down. “I got so I was hatin’ him,” he said to Tony, “and yet it kinda chokes me up to see him lyin’ there like that. Things used to be pretty pleasant in the old days on the range.” Johnny’s words and the look on his face caused Madeiras more concern than the sight of Kent’s lifeless body. Going to the boy’s side, he placed his arm around his shoulders. “Never min’, Johnny,” he said. “Kent try dam’ hard do ever’t’ing bad for you. No reason for you mak’ me feel all bus’ up.”