* * * * *

Most of the men who were gunning in Gunnison in the early 80’s were fearless men, who, when a difference of opinion arose, faced each other and fought it out; but there had come to live at La Veta a thin, quiet, handsome fellow, who moved mysteriously in and out of the camp, slept a lot by day, and showed a fondness for faro by night.  When a name was needed he signed “Buckingham.”  His icy hand was soft and white, and his clothes fitted him faultlessly.  He was handsome, and when he paid his bill at the end of the fourth week he proposed to Nora O’Neal.  He was so fairer, physically, than Cassidy and so darker, morally, that Nora could not make up her mind at all, at all.

In the shadow time, between sunset and gas-light, on the afternoon of the last day but one before Christmas, Buck, as he came to be called, leaned over the office counter and put a folded bit of white paper in Nora’s hand, saying, as he closed her fingers over it:  “Put this powder in Cassidy’s cup.”  He knew Cassidy merely as the messenger whose freight he coveted, and not as a contestant for Nora’s heart and hand,—­a hand he prized, however, as he would a bob-tailed flush, but no more.

As for Cassidy, he would be glad, waking, to find himself alive; and if this plan miscarried, Buck should be able to side-step the gallows.  Anyway, dope was preferable to death.

Nora opened her hand, and in utter amazement looked at the paper.  Some one interrupted them.  Buck turned away, and Nora shoved the powder down deep into her jacket pocket, feeling vaguely guilty.

No. 7, the Salt Lake Limited, was an hour late that night.  The regular dinner (we called it supper then) was over when Shanley whistled in.

* * * * *

As the headlight of the Rockaway engine gleamed along the hotel windows, Nora went back to see that everything was ready.

In the narrow passage between the kitchen and the dining-room she met Buckingham.  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Now, my beauty,” said Buck, laying a cold hand on her arm, “don’t be excited.”

She turned her honest eyes to him and he almost visibly shrank from them, as she had shuddered at the strange, cold touch of his hand.

“Put that powder in Cassidy’s cup,” he said, and in the half-light of the little hallway she saw his cruel smile.

“And kill Cassidy, the best friend I have on earth?”

“It will not kill him, but it may save his life.  I shall be in his car to-night.  Sabe?  Do as I tell you.  He will only fall asleep for a little while, otherwise—­well, he may oversleep himself.”  She would have passed on, but he stayed her.  “Where is it?” he demanded, with a meaning glance.

She touched her jacket pocket, and he released his hold on her arm.

The shuffle and scuffle of the feet of hungry travellers who were piling into the dining-room had disturbed them.  Nora passed on to the rear, Buck out to sit down and dine with the passengers, who always had a shade the best of the bill.