"Somehow," he argued to himself, "it don't seem like killin' is right, here." The long hand of Langley touched his shoulder. He whispered rapidly: "You remember last night when you was out of the room for a minute? Jerry turned his head to me--jest the way he's lyin' now--and I says: 'Jerry, is there anything I can do for you?'" Mac Strann reached up and his big fingers closed over those of Haw-Haw. "Haw-Haw," he muttered, "you was his frien'. I know that." Haw-Haw gathered assurance. He said: "Jerry answers to me: 'Haw-Haw, old pal, there ain't nothin' you can do for me. I'm goin' West. But after I'm gone, keep Mac away from Barry.' "I says: 'Why, Jerry?" "'Because Barry'll kill him, sure,' says Jerry. "'I'll do what I can to keep him away from Barry,' says I, 'but don't you want nothin' done to the man what killed you?' "'Oh, Haw-Haw,' says Jerry, 'I ain't goin' to rest easy, I ain't goin' to sleep in heaven--until I know Barry's been sent to hell. But for God's sake don't let Mac know what I want, or he'd be sure to go after Barry and get what I got.'" Mac Strann crushed the hand of Haw-Haw in a terrible grip. "Partner," he said, "d'you swear this is straight?" "So help me God!" repeated the perjurer. "Then," said Mac Strann, "I got to leave the buryin' to other men what I'll hire. Me--I've got business on hand. Where did Barry run to?" "He ain't run," cried Haw-Haw, choking with a strange emotion. "The fool--the damned fool!--is waiting right down here in O'Brien's bar for you to come. He's _darin'_ you to come!" Mac Strann made no answer. He cast a single glance at the peaceful face of Jerry, and then started for the door. Haw-Haw waited until the door closed; then he wound his arms about his body, writhed in an ecstasy of silent laughter, and followed with long, shambling strides. CHAPTER XVII BUCK MAKES HIS GET-AWAY Straight from the room of the dead man, Fatty Matthews had hurried down to the bar, and there he stepped into the silence and found the battery of eyes all turned upon that calm figure at the end of the room. Upon this man he trotted, breathing hard, and his fat sides jostled up and down as he ran. According to Brownsville, there were only two things that could make Fatty run: a gun or the sight of a drink. But all maxims err. When he reached Barry he struck him on the shoulder with a heavy hand. That is, he struck at the shoulder, but as if the shadow of the falling hand carried a warning before it, at the same time that it dropped Barry swerved around in his chair. Not a hurried movement, but in some mysterious manner his shoulder was not in the way of the plump fist. It struck, instead, upon the back of the chair, and the marshal cursed bitterly. "Stranger," he said hotly, "I got one thing to say: Jerry Strann has just died upstairs. In ten seconds Mac Strann will be down here lookin' for _you_!"