"Well, Jim?" he queried. The other came slowly back to the desk and reseated himself. His face was puzzled. "Who was that, Tom? He seems strangely familiar, and yet I can't seem to place him." "That man was Cliff Williams, the cowboy murderer," said the warden. "You may have seen his picture in the papers. He gets the chair next month for the three murders he has committed." Jim Kelton registered surprise. "He doesn't look like the sort of person to do such a thing like that. He seems almost a kid." The warden smiled grimly. "His looks are deceiving. He has killed three men in the last ten years, and as far as anyone knows, without any reason. I'll tell you the story, if you care to hear it." The other assented. "Well, the first one was a cow hand down in Texas about ten years ago. He was working on a ranch down there and he and this fellow got in an argument over something. He shot him. Then he raked his face open with his spurs. That was the thing that trapped him in the end. Every time he killed, he marked his victim's face. Horrible, I grant you. Well, he disappeared, and finally the case was forgotten. He was a kid of nineteen or twenty then. Five years later he turned up in Oregon. Worked on the Lazy T ranch there. All the men liked him, too. He was quiet, knew his business, and never talked much. Then one day, he came in from line camp and the foreman gave him his pay. There seemed to be some mistake in it, and he went to the ranch house to see Danby, the owner. None of the boys noticed him come out, but when the cook went to call him to dinner, he found Danby dead. Choked to death, his face ripped open, and the cowboy gone. When they went to look for Williams, he was gone. When they next heard of him, the police got a call to investigate a brawl in a Laredo saloon. When they arrived and broke through the circle, they saw two men struggling. Suddenly one fell, and then before they could reach Williams, he lifted his spurred foot, and slashed the face of the fallen man. Then they got him. Then the police started for him. They got him after a terrible fight. The other fellow died in the hospital shortly after." The warden shook his head. "He's a tough one. Never a muscle when they sentenced him." "Too bad." Jim Kelton rose and picked up his hat. "Well, guess I'd better run along. Come out for a game of bridge some night, Tom. Ellen was saying the other day that we never see you any more." The warden opened the door for his friend. "I'll be out some night soon," he promised, smiling. As Williams stood waiting for the trusty to unlock the door of his cell, his eyes met those of Lawrie, the man in the next cell. Between the two had grown up an active dislike, the more threatening because unspoken. At least, so far. It remained for Claffin, across the way, to bring the thing out into the open. They were all discussing an expected arrival.