“It’s kinda danged funny, anyway,” observed Brick, as he rode back through the night. “Leach got established, and then he gets his brother-in-law to come down. Then comes Hank Stagg and Baldy Malloy. They used to work for the same outfit. I’ll sure have to talk with Soapy about this. But if Meecham knew anythin’ about Soapy takin’ that payroll to the Red Hill he didn’t show it. Mebbe I’m barkin’ up the wrong tree, I dunno.” * * * * * It was after nine o’clock when Brick got back to Marlin City and stabled his horse. Soapy’s team was still at the rack; so Brick felt sure that a big poker game was in progress. He was tired and sore, so he rubbed his bruises with liniment and went to bed. There was no sign of Harp, but Brick knew that Harp would never think of going to bed as long as there was anything going on in town. And Brick was right. Harp sat between Soapy Caswell and Bill Grant at the poker-table, trying to make his meager stack of chips weather the storm. Harp knew that he had no business in a game with these two men. Banty Harrison, owner of the livery-stable, and Lew Slater, a professional gambler, were the other two in the game. Harp played carefully, hoarding his money, and drinking hard liquor at regular intervals. He had failed to get up nerve enough to ask Miss Miller to go to the dance with him. Luck and keen judgment kept Harp in the game until three o’clock in the morning, when he grew bold enough to try and make two deuces beat Bill Grant’s full house. “I’m through,” announced Harp. “I’ve done well to last this long.” “I’ve got a-plenty, too,” agreed Soapy. They shoved back from the table, while Slater counted their chips, and then all went to the bar for a final drink. Harp was the first one to leave the place. He stopped on the porch of the saloon and gulped in deep breaths of the cool air. He turned his head quickly and glanced toward the corner of the building. It seemed to him as though someone or something had moved there. But he was unable to see anything. Anyway, it was probably a dog or a cat. He stepped off the sidewalk and started to cross the street, going diagonally, toward the office. He heard someone step out onto the sidewalk, and a moment later came the roar of a heavy gun-shot. Harp almost fell down, as he whirled quickly, jerking out his gun. But there was nobody in sight. A gust of smoke drifted past the open doorway, showing that the shot had been fired from near where he had heard the noise. Men were crowding out of the doorway now; so he trotted back to the edge of the sidewalk. Someone was stretched out on the boards, and now Bill Grant scratched a match, looking down at the man on the sidewalk. “What in —— happened?” queried Harp. “It’s Soapy!” grunted Grant. “Somebody help me take him inside.” They carried him into the saloon and laid him out on the floor. He was unconscious and bleeding badly.