’Poleon Doret had been swept aside, then borne backward ahead of that stampede, and at length found himself wedged into a corner.  He heard the victor repeating:  “You saw him.  Tried to kill me!” The speaker turned a blanched face and glaring eyes upon those witnesses who still remained.  “He’s Sam Kirby.  I had to get him or he’d have got me.”  He pressed a hand to his side, then raised it; it was smeared with blood.  In blank stupefaction the man stared at this phenomenon.

Doret was the first to reach that motionless figure sprawled face down upon the floor; it was he who lifted the gray head and spoke Kirby’s name.  A swift examination was enough to make quite sure that the old man was beyond all help.  Outside, curiosity had done its work and the human tide was setting back into the wrecked saloon.  When ’Poleon rose with the body in his arms he was surrounded by a clamorous crowd.  Through it he bore the limp figure to the cloth-covered card-table, and there, among the scattered emblems of Sam Kirby’s calling, ’Poleon deposited his burden.  By those cards and those celluloid disks the old gambler had made his living; grim fitness was in the fact that they should carpet his bier.

When ’Poleon Doret had forced his way by main strength out of the Gold Belt Saloon, he removed his cap and, turning his face to the wind, he breathed deeply of the cool, clean air.  His brow was moist; he let the snowflakes fall upon it the while he shut his eyes and strove to think.  Engaged thus, he heard Lucky Broad address him.

With the speaker was Kid Bridges; that they had come thither on the run was plain, for they were panting.

“What’s this about Kirby?” Lucky gasped.

“We heard he’s just been croaked!” the Kid exclaimed.

‘Poleon nodded.  “I seen it all.  He had it comin’ to him,” and with a gesture he seemed to brush a hideous picture from before his eyes.

“Old Sam!  Dead!”

Broad, it seemed, was incredulous.  He undertook to bore his way into the crowd that was pressing through the saloon door, but Doret seized him.

“Wait!” cried the latter.  “Dat ain’t all; dat ain’t de worst.”

“Say!  Where’s Letty?” Bridges inquired.  “Was she with him when it happened?  Does she know—­”

“Dat’s w’at I’m goin’ tell you.”  In a few words ’Poleon made known the girl’s condition, how he had happened to encounter her, and how he had been looking for her father when the tragedy occurred.  His listeners showed their amazement and their concern.

“Gosh!  That’s tough!” It was Broad speaking.  “Me ‘n’ the Kid had struck camp and was on our way down to fix up our boat when we heard about the killin’.  We couldn’t believe it, for Sam—­”

“Seems like it was a waste of effort to save that outfit,” Bridges broke in.  “Sam dead and Letty dyin’—­all in this length of time!  She’s a good kid; she’s goin’ to feel awful.  Who’s goin’ to break the news to her?”