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He began to waver. As Garrett and Barney Mason stepped to his horse's side, he fell over and slipped down into their arms. It was Tom O'Folliard.

They laid him in the snow. He had lost consciousness and they thought him dead. Suddenly he revived and began to scream curses on Garrett's head.

"I'll put a dead man's curse on you," he shouted. "You've killed me but you'll die like a dog yourself some day, and I hope you burn in hell."

Barney Mason bent over him.

"No use making a fuss, Tom," said he. "Be game. Take your medicine like a man."

They carried him inside and laid him on a blanket in a corner. There, as he writhed in agony, he raved and swore and called down maledictions on Garrett. His voice gradually grew weaker. Weaker still. He was plainly dying. He could not last much longer.

Garrett, Emory, Mason, and Williams went back to their card game.

"I'm betting two dollars on my hand," remarked Mason.

"That's a lot of money, Barney," returned Garrett, "but I'll just see what you've got."

He tossed some coins to the centre of the blanket.

The curses from the corner ceased. The dying man went into a spasm. His limbs twitched and straightened. He made a convulsive effort to sit up.

"God damn Pat Garrett," he muttered, and fell back dead.

"Jacks and eights," said Barney Mason.

"The dead man's hand," answered Garrett. "It wins."

For several hours, on the authority of Jim East and