“You’re a liar, Soapy, a liar!  Bud’s inside, I know he is.  Leggo my arm, you can’t con me!”

“‘S right, Kid, I ain’t tryin’.  Only I’m tellin’ you Bud’s left me an’ Lefty t’ run things here t’night.  Bud’s up-town at his old man’s place.  I know because—­I sent him, see?”

“You sent him—­you?  Ah, come off!  You couldn’t!”

“’S right, Kid; I got him away by a fake telegram.”

The boy ventured a long, quivering sigh, his whole frame relaxed, and in that instant Soapy wrenched the weapon from his loosened hold and rose.  Choking with passion, Spike sprang at him, but Soapy fended him off with a long arm.

“Gimme that gun!”

“Behave, Kid, behave, else I’ll have t’ dot ye one!  Be good an’ chase off home; this ain’t no place for you t’night—­nor no other time.”

“Gimme that gun!”

“No!”

Spike ceased the useless struggle and leaned against the fence, panting, while Soapy reseated himself upon the battered pail.

“What you got t’ come buttin’ in for?” demanded the boy, “this ain’t your show, an’ I guess you ain’t so mighty fond o’ Bud either—­”

“’S right, too,” nodded Soapy, “no, I ain’t exactly fond of him, Kid; leastways I don’t run t’ help him if he falls nor kiss th’ place t’ make it well—­no, Kid!  But I kind o’ feel that Bud’s too good t’ snuff it this way, or snuff it—­yet!”

“Good?” said the lad bitterly, “good—­hell!  He’s ruined me, Soapy, he’s done me in!  He’s come between me an’—­an’ Hermy.  He tried t’ make me think dirt of her, an’ now—­now I—­I’m all alone; I ain’t got nobody left—­oh, my God!” and huddling to the fence, Spike broke out into a fierce and anguished sobbing, while Soapy, spinning the revolver dexterously on his finger, watched him under drooping lids.

“She was mighty good t’ ye, Hermy was!” said he thoughtfully.

“Don’t—­ah, don’t!” gasped Spike.

“An’ when he spoke dirt of her, you—­believed him, Kid!”

“I didn’t.”

“You did, else you’d have been with her now.  She was always good t’ you, Hermy was, but you—­well, you preferred Bud!”

“I didn’t, Soapy; God knows I didn’t—­only—­I thought Bud would make me a champion—­”

“By gettin’ ye soused, Kid!”

“Oh, I know—­I know now he’s only been stringin’ me all along—­I know now it’s too late—­that’s why I’m goin’ t’ kill him.”

“Kill him!” mused Soapy.  “Kid, there’s good killings an’ bad killin’s, an’ I reckon this ‘ud be a good killin’, maybe.  But this ain’t your job.”

“Why—­why ain’t it?”

“Well, you got a sister f’r one thing, an’ besides, you ain’t a killer.”

“You gimme that gun an’ see!” cried the lad, reaching out a hand tremulous and eager.

“When the time came, Kid, ‘stead o’ shootin’, you’d drop your gun like that time in th’ wood.”

“Th’ wood!” Spike’s voice dropped to a strangled whisper and he shrank back against the fence.  “You—­my God, you—­saw—!”