LITMIR.BIZ

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comin’ here at six o’clock!”

      Hollis turned slowly in his chair and faced the boy. His cheeks whitened a little. Judge Graney had been right. Hollis had rather expected at some time or other he would have to have it out with Yuma, but he had expected he would have to deal with Yuma himself. He smiled a little grimly. It made very little difference whether he fought Yuma or some other man; when he had elected to remain in Dry Bottom he had realized that he must fight somebody–everybody in the Dunlavey crew. He looked at his watch and saw that the hands pointed to four. Therefore he had two hours to prepare for Ten Spot’s coming. He smiled at the boy, looked back into the composing room and saw that Potter had ceased his labors and was leaning on a type case, watching him soberly. He grinned broadly at Potter and turned to Jiggs.

      “How many Kickers did you sell?”

      “Two hundred an’ ten,” returned the latter; “everybody bought them.” He took a step forward; his hands clenching with the excitement that still possessed him. “I told you Ten Spot was comin’ down here to kill you!” he said hoarsely and insistently. “Didn’t you hear me?”

      “I heard you,” smiled Hollis, “and I understand perfectly. But I don’t think we need to get excited over it. Just how much money did you receive for the two hundred and ten papers?”

      “Six dollars an’ two bits,” responded the boy, regarding Hollis wonderingly.

      “It is yours,” Hollis informed him; “there was to be no charge for the Kicker to-day.”

      The boy grinned with pleasure. “Don’t you want none of it?” he inquired.

      “It is yours,” repeated Hollis. He reached out and grasped the boy by the arm, drawing him close. “Now tell me what you heard at the Fashion,” he said.

      Rapidly, but with rather less excitement in his manner than he had exhibited on his entrance, the boy related in detail the conversation he had overheard at the Fashion. When he had finished Hollis patted him approvingly on the back.

      “The official circulation manager of the Kicker has made good,” he said with a smile. “Now go home and take a good rest and be ready to deliver the Kicker next Saturday.”

      The boy backed away and stood looking at Hollis in surprise. “Why!” he said in an awed voice, “you ain’t none scared a-tall!”

      “I certainly am scared,” laughed Hollis; “scared that Ten Spot will change his mind before six o’clock. Do you think he will?”

      “No!” emphatically declared the boy. “I don’t reckon that Ten Spot will change his mind a-tall. He’ll sure come down here to shoot you!”

      “That relieves me,” returned Hollis dryly. “Now you go home. But,” he warned, “don’t tell anyone that I am scared.”

      For an instant the boy looked at Hollis critically, searching his face with all a boy’s unerring judgment for signs which would tell of insincerity. Seeing none, he deliberately stretched a hand out to Hollis, his lips wreathing into an approving grin.

      “Durned if you ain’t the stuff!” he declared. “I’m just bettin’ that Ten Spot ain’t scarin’ you none!” Then he backed out of the door and still grinning, disappeared.

      After Jiggs had gone Hollis turned and smiled at Potter. “I suppose you know this man Ten Spot,” he said. “Will he come?”

      “He will come,” returned Potter. His face was pale and his lips quivered a little as he continued: “Ten Spot is the worst of Dunlavey’s set,” he said; “a dangerous, reckless taker of human life. He is quick on the trigger and a dead shot. He is called Ten Spot because of the fact that once, with a gun in each hand, he shot all the spots from a ten of hearts at ten paces.”

      Hollis sat silent, thoughtfully stroking his chin. Potter smiled admiringly.

      “I know that you don’t like to run,” he said; “you aren’t that kind. But you haven’t a chance with Ten Spot–unfortunately you haven’t had much experience with a six-shooter.” Potter’s hands shook as he tried to resume work at the type case. “I didn’t think they would have nerve enough for that game,” he added, advancing again toward Hollis. “I rather thought they would try some other plan–something not quite so raw. But it seems they have nerve enough for anything. Hollis” he concluded dejectedly, “you’ve got to get out of town before six o’clock or Ten Spot will kill you!

      “You’ve got plenty of time,” he resumed as Hollis kept silent; “it’s only a little after four. You can get on your horse and be almost at the Circle Bar at six. No one can blame you for not staying–everybody knows that you can’t handle a gun fast enough to match Ten Spot. Maybe if you do light out and don’t show up in town for a week or so this thing will blow over.”

      “Thank you very much for that advice, Potter,” said Hollis slowly. “I appreciate the fact that you are thinking of my safety. But of course there is another side to the situation. You of course realize that if I run now I am through here–no one would ever take me seriously after it had been discovered that I had been run out of town by Ten Spot.”

      “That’s a fact,” admitted Potter. “But of course—”

      “I think that is settled,” interrupted Hollis. “You can’t change the situation by argument. I’ve got to face it and face it alone. I’ve got to stay here until Ten Spot comes. If I can’t beat him at his game he wins and you can telegraph East to my people.” He rose and walked to the window, his back to the printer.

      “You can knock off for to-day, Potter. Jump right on your pony and get out to Circle Bar. I wouldn’t say anything to Norton or anyone until after nine to-night and then if I don’t show up at the ranch you will know that Ten Spot has got me.”

      He stood at the window while Potter slowly drew off his apron, carefully folded it and tucked it into a corner. He moved very deliberately, as though reluctant to leave his chief. Had Hollis shown the slightest sign of weakening Potter would have stayed. But watching closely he saw no sign of weakness in the impassive face of his chief, and so, after he had made his preparations for departure, he drew a deep breath of resignation and walked slowly to the back door, where his pony was hitched. He halted at the threshold, looking back at his chief.

      “Well, good-bye then,” he said.

      Hollis did not turn. “Good-bye,” he answered.

      Potter took one step outward, hesitated, and then again faced the front of the office.

      “Damn it, Hollis,” he said hoarsely, “don’t wait for Ten Spot to start anything; when you see him coming in the door bore him. You’ve got a right to; that’s the law in this country. When a man gives you notice to leave town you’ve got a right to shoot him on sight!”

      For a moment he stood, awaiting an answer. None came. Potter sighed and stepped out through the door, leaving his chief alone.

      At one minute to six Hollis pulled out his watch. He sighed, replaced the time-piece, and leaned back in his chair. A glance out through the window showed him that the street was deserted except for here and there a cow pony drooping over one of the hitching rails and a wagon or two standing in front of a store. The sun was coming slantwise over the roofs; Hollis saw that the strip of shade in front of the Kicker building had grown to wide proportions. He looked at his watch again. It was one minute after six–and still there were no signs of Ten Spot.

      A derisive grin appeared on Hollis’s face. Perhaps Ten Spot had reconsidered. He decided that he would wait until ten minutes after six; that would give Ten Spot a decent margin of time for delay.

      And then there was a sudden movement and a man stood just inside the office door, a heavy revolver in his right hand, its muzzle menacing Hollis. The man was tall and angular, apparently about thirty years old, with thin, cruel lips and insolent, shifty eyes.

      “’Nds up!” he said sharply, swinging

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