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a drink with," he growled cordially. "Come on in, Jimmy, and have three fingers of red liquor with me."

"Well, Bob, don't care if I do."

They strolled into the bar. La Rue set out the bottle and glasses.

"Garrett went over to White Oaks to-day to order the gallows," said Ollinger. "Kid's gettin' scared. Dropped some talk this mornin' about makin' some kind of break. Like to see him do it. Got my old shotgun loaded with eighteen buckshot. I'd like a chance to plaster him with both barrels right between the shoulder blades. Little devil. Killed Beckwith. But I'll get my revenge when the trap falls. I want to see him kick. Little devil. Hope he strangles."

"That's the stuff," echoed Jimmy Dolan.

They raised their glasses.

"Here's to the rope that chokes the life out of him," said Ollinger.

Ollinger strolled back to the hotel which stood just across the street from the courthouse. The liquor had warmed the cockles of his heart. Thoughts of the Kid dancing on air in a hangman's noose cheered him. It was, too, one grand spring day. The world was full of sunshine. It was good to be alive. He stepped on the hotel porch. Savoury odours of roast beef and potatoes saluted his nostrils. By jiminy! That smelled good. That was a dish to hit the spot. Roast beef and potatoes.…

A sudden crashing noise over in the courthouse startled him. Then silence. What was that? For a tense moment all his senses listened. He could hear nothing more. The world seemed suddenly soundless. There across the way stood the old courthouse, peaceful, silent, in the glare