Dan Pennycook, at his work among the strings of empty box-cars across the track, had heard the shooting; had seen the crowd leave the porch of the Silver Dollar saloon and surge out into the street. He came running now, and upon hearing the details of the duel he pressed through the circle of curious men who had gathered to see Harley P. Hennage die. He found Mr. Hennage seated in the sand with his head and shoulders supported by a stranger. Mr. Hennage smiled his rare, trustful, childish smile as the yardmaster approached. “Good old Dan!” he mumbled. “He can only--think of one--thing at a--time--like a horse--but--by God--he thinks--straight. Hello, Dan. I'm beefed. Help Bob--carry me in--Dan. I'm so--damned--heavy an' I don't want--any but real friends--to touch me--now.” They picked him up and carried him into the hotel, up the narrow heat-warped stairs and down the corridor to his room. On the way down the corridor, Mr. Hennage sniffed curiously. “They got--new mattin' in the rooms” he gasped. “Business--must be--lookin' up.” The crowd followed into the room, and watched Bob McGraw and Dan Pennycook lay Mr. Hennage on his old bed. Dan Pennycook hurried for Doc Taylor, while Bob cleared the room of the curious and locked the door. Mr. Hennage beckoned him to his bedside. “I ain't paid--for this bed yet” he said, “but there's money--in my pants pocket--an' you square up--for the damage--an' the annoyance--” The tears came into Bob McGraw's eyes as he knelt beside the bed and took the hand of the worst man in San Pasqual in his. He could not speak. The simplicity, the honesty of this dying stray dog had filled his heart to overflowing; for he was young and he could weep at the passing of a man. “Sho,” said Mr. Hennage softly, “sho, Bob. It was low down--o' me to figure you--a crook, but the evidence--man, it was awful--but you--when did you--marry Donnie.” “Last October--in Bakersfield.” “I know--wisht you'd invited me--give the bride away, Bob. This wouldn't--have happened. Damn dogs! They--say--little Donnie--belongs--east o' the tracks. I killed--O'Rourke for--thinkin' it.” A knock sounded on the door, and Bob opened it, to admit Dan Pennycook. “Doc Taylor's in Bakersfield” he said. Mr. Hennage grinned. “I knew it--no luck to-day” he said. “Just wipe the--sand out--o' my eyes, Bob--an' let me kick the bucket--without disturbin' nobody. Dan'l, good-by. As the feller says--we shall meet--on that beautiful--shore.” Pennycook wet a towel in the wash-bowl and wiped Mr. Hennage's eyes. Then he wiped his own, squeezed his friend's hand and departed. He had taken Mr. Hennage's gentle hint to leave him alone with Bob McGraw. For nearly half an hour Bob and Mr. Hennage talked, and when the gambler had learned all he wished to know he closed his eyes and was silent until another knock came on the door. Again Bob opened it. Donna stood on the threshold.