Dawn was at hand when at last he reached O’Rourke’s saloon and, letting himself in, strode into the bar.  The place was deserted at this hour, but from a room hard by came the sound of voices, hoarse laughter, and the rattle of chips that told a poker game was still in progress.

Scowling, M’Ginnis stood awhile to listen.  Then, lifting the flap of the bar, he passed through the narrow door beyond, along the passage and so to that dingy office, from the open door of which a light streamed.

Scowling still, M’Ginnis strode in, then stood suddenly still, lifted his right hand toward his breast, then paused as Soapy, turning about in the swing chair, took a heavy, ivory-handled revolver from where it had lain on the desk beside a packet of letters tied up in a faded blue ribbon.

“Lock th’ door, Bud, lock th’ door!” said he softly.  “So!” he nodded, as M’Ginnis obeyed. “‘N’ say, Bud, take that hand away from y’r gun an’—­keep it away—­see?” And the lamplight glittered on the long barrel that rested on Soapy’s knee.

“So—­this is th’ game—­hey?” demanded M’Ginnis hoarsely, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Soapy unwinkingly.

“‘S right, Bud.  Y’ see, I been takin’ a peek int’ that little tin safe o’ yours—­say, it looks like you’d had a bit of a rough house, Bud!”

Soapy’s cigarette quivered and was still again, while M’Ginnis watched him, breathing thickly but speaking no word, and Soapy went on again: 

“I been takin’ a peek into that little tin safe o’ yours, an’ I found some papers you’d been kind o’ treasurin’ up about me, so I burnt ’em, Bud—­not as they mattered very much, there ain’t nobody t’ worry when I snuff it—­but I found as you’d got other papers about other guys as would matter some t’ them, I guess—­so I burnt ’em too, Bud.”

“Burnt ’em!” cried M’Ginnis in a strangled voice, “burnt ’em—­you—­”

“It ain’t no use t’ get riled, Bud; I burnt ’em—­there’s th’ ashes!”

M’Ginnis glanced at the heap of ash by the stove and burst into a frenzy of curses and fierce invective, while Soapy, lounging back in the chair, watched him unmoved until he had done, then he spoke again: 

“Also I found—­letters, Bud, a packet tied up in blue ribbon—­an’, Bud, they matter a whole lot.  Here they are—­look at ’em!”

For a moment Soapy’s baleful eye turned aside to the desk as he reached for the letters, and in that moment M’Ginnis’s pistol spoke, and Soapy, lurching sideways, sagged to his knees, his back against the desk.  Again and again M’Ginnis’s weapon clicked, but no report followed, and Soapy slowly dragged himself to his feet.  His cigarette fell and lay smouldering, and for a moment he stared at it; then he laughed softly and glanced at M’Ginnis.

“You fool, Bud, you dog-gone fool!  Forgot t’ load up y’r gun, eh?  But I guess you got me all right, anyway—­you’re shootin’ better t’night than you did in the wood that time—­eh, Bud?  Now I want t’ tell you—­” He was choked suddenly with a ghastly coughing, and when he spoke again, his voice was fainter, and he held a smartly-bordered handkerchief to his mouth.