"Ther' ain't much time," he said, with something like a gasp. "He's run off my stock, an' set my hay an' the corrals afire. He--he got us when we was roundin'--roundin' up a bunch o' steers. Y'see--y'see, we was in--in the saddle." Again he paused. This time his breath came in gasps and deep-throated gurglings. He struggled on, however, stumbling and gasping with almost every second word. "We put up a--scrap--good. An'--an' both--my boys was--was dropped cold. After I--I emptied--my gun--I--I hit--the trail for here. Then I--got it good. Say--" Once more he was interrupted by a fit of terrible coughing. And the moment it eased the storekeeper held the brandy, which one of the boys had brought, to his blood-flecked lips. The poor fellow's end was not far off. The onlookers knew it. Minky knew there was practically nothing to be done for him. All these men had witnessed the approach of death in this form too often before. A lung pierced by a bullet! They could do nothing but look on curiously, helplessly and listen carefully to the story he was trying to tell. The man struggled with himself for some moments. The strong young body was yielding reluctantly enough to the death-grip. And at last his words gasped haltingly upon the still air. "Their plugs--wasn't--fresh. Mine--was. That give--me--the--legs--of 'em. But--they--rode--hard, an'--" His voice died down to a whistling gasp and his eyes closed. He was sinking fast. Minky forced more brandy between his lips. And presently the drooping eyelids widened, and a momentary strength lifted the weakening body. "They follered," he mumbled, "but--I--don't--know--how--many. 'Bout--three. Three--miles--back--I--I--lost--'em--" His eyes were glazing and staring painfully. And as his last words hovered on his lips they were drowned by the gurgling and rattling in his throat. Suddenly a shudder passed through his frame. He started, his eyes staring wildly. "I'm--done!" he gasped. His arms shot up convulsively, his legs flung out. And then all his weight dropped back on to the storekeeper's supporting arm. The next moment his body seemed to heave as with a deep, restful sigh, and his head lolled helplessly forward. He was dead. CHAPTER XXIII A BATH AND-- Scipio started and looked up as a joyous greeting from the children outside warned him of the approach of a visitor. He was rather glad of the interruption, too. He found the Bible offered him such an enormous field of research. It was worse than enormous; it was overwhelming. The Bible was really more than he could study in the few minutes he had allowed himself. As yet he had not found even one single mention of the few subjects he still retained a vague recollection of. As he glanced at the doorway it was darkened by a familiar figure. Sunny Oak, as ragged, disreputable and unclean as usual, smiled himself into the room.