Bain's right hand stiffened--moved. Duane threw his gun as a boy throws a ball underhand--a draw his father had taught him. He pulled twice, his shots almost as one. Bain's big Colt boomed while it was pointed downward and he was falling. His bullet scattered dust and gravel at Duane's feet. He fell loosely, without contortion. In a flash all was reality for Duane. He went forward and held his gun ready for the slightest movement on the part of Bain. But Bain lay upon his back, and all that moved were his breast and his eyes. How strangely the red had left his face--and also the distortion! The devil that had showed in Bain was gone. He was sober and conscious. He tried to speak, but failed. His eyes expressed something pitifully human. They changed--rolled--set blankly. Duane drew a deep breath and sheathed his gun. He felt calm and cool, glad the fray was over. One violent expression burst from him. “The fool!” When he looked up there were men around him. “Plumb center,” said one. Another, a cowboy who evidently had just left the gaming-table, leaned down and pulled open Bain's shirt. He had the ace of spades in his hand. He laid it on Bain's breast, and the black figure on the card covered the two bullet-holes just over Bain's heart. Duane wheeled and hurried away. He heard another man say: “Reckon Cal got what he deserved. Buck Duane's first gunplay. Like father like son!” CHAPTER II A thought kept repeating itself to Duane, and it was that he might have spared himself concern through his imagining how awful it would be to kill a man. He had no such feeling now. He had rid the community of a drunken, bragging, quarrelsome cowboy. When he came to the gate of his home and saw his uncle there with a mettlesome horse, saddled, with canteen, rope, and bags all in place, a subtle shock pervaded his spirit. It had slipped his mind--the consequence of his act. But sight of the horse and the look of his uncle recalled the fact that he must now become a fugitive. An unreasonable anger took hold of him. “The d--d fool!” he exclaimed, hotly. “Meeting Bain wasn't much, Uncle Jim. He dusted my boots, that's all. And for that I've got to go on the dodge.” “Son, you killed him--then?” asked the uncle, huskily. “Yes. I stood over him--watched him die. I did as I would have been done by.” “I knew it. Long ago I saw it comin'. But now we can't stop to cry over spilt blood. You've got to leave town an' this part of the country.” “Mother!” exclaimed Duane. “She's away from home. You can't wait. I'll break it to her--what she always feared.” Suddenly Duane sat down and covered his face with his hands. “My God! Uncle, what have I done?” His broad shoulders shook.