Thus ended the murderous career of the Kid, the terror of the Southwest. Clark had undoubtedly hit him with one or more of his shots. Where or how soon after he may have died, no white man knows, Clark being the last one to see him, as the two shots simultaneously rang out on the silence of that night. Had it been the Kid instead of the squaw, Clark would have earned the large reward that was offered for him dead or alive. Tom Horn, an old scout, who spoke the Apache language like a native, came from Denver subsequently, hoping that by some chance the Kid might still be living somewhere and that he might earn the reward. The mother and the sister, however, both assured him that the Kid was dead, but beyond this would say nothing. It would seem that there could be no more fitting ending to this little sketch than its dedication to the memory of those old-timers, makers of early-day history, the old pioneers. Each well played his individual part in that great border drama. On them the curtain has rung down for the last time. To them the succeeding generations owe much. TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.