Before the faro-table there was the greatest gathering. Wild Bill, furnished with money by the person known to us so far as Willie Pond, was "bucking against the bank" with, his usual wonderful luck, and the crowd centered around him as a character more noted and better known than any other who had yet come to Deadwood. "I'll bet my whole pile on the jack!" shouted Wild Bill, who had taken enough strong drink to fit him for anything. "Do be careful, Bill--do be careful!" said a low, kind voice just behind him. It was that of Willie Pond. "Oh, go home and mind your business. I'll break this bank to-night, or die in the trial!" cried Bill, defiantly. "You'll die before you break it!" shrieked out a shrill, sharp voice, and the red-haired Texan sprang forward with an uplifted bowie-knife, and lunged with deadly aim at Bill's heart, even as the person we have so long known as Willie Pond shrieked out: "Save, oh, save my husband!" But another hand clutched the hilt of the descending knife and the hand of a short, thickset, beetle-browed desperado, was shouted, as he drew a pistol with his other hand: "Wild Bill is my game. No one living shall cheat me of my revenge! Look at this scar, Bill--you marked me for _life_ and now I mark you for _death!_" And even as he spoke, the man fired, and a death-shot pierced Wild Bill's heart. The latter, who had risen to his feet, staggered toward the Texan, who struggled to free his knife-hand from the clutch of the real assassin, and with a wild laugh, tore the false hair from the Texan's head. As a roll of woman's hair came down in a flood of beauty over her shoulders, Bill gasped out: "Jack McCall, I'm thankful to you, even though you've killed me. Wild Bill does not die by the hand of a _woman!"_ A shudder, and all was over, so far as Wild Bill's life went. His real and true wife wept in silence over his body, while sullen, and for a time silent, the supposed Texan stood and gazed at the dead body. Then she spoke, addressing McCall: "Villain, you have robbed me of my revenge! for by my hand should that man have fallen. No wrong he could have done you can be more bitter than that which put me on his death-trail, and made me swear to take his life.