"I understand," began Slaghammer to Barker--"I am informed--"

"Speak quieter, Judge," said the cow-puncher.
"I understand," repeated Slaghammer, more official than ever, "that there

was a case for the coroner."
"You'll be notified," put in McLean again. "Meanwhile you'll talk quiet

in this room."
Slaghammer turned, and saw the breathing mass on the bed.

"You are a little early, Judge," said Barker, "but--"
"But your ten dollars are safe," said McLean.

The coroner shot one of his shrewd glances at the cow-puncher, and sat
down with an amiablecountenance. His fee was, indeed, ten dollars; and

he was desirous of a second term.
"Under the apprehension that it had already occurred--the

misapprehension--I took steps to impanel a jury," said he, addressing
both Barker and McLean. "They are--ah--waiting outside. Responsible men,

Governor, and have sat before. Drybone has few responsible men to-night,
but I procured these at a little game where they were--ah--losing. You

may go back, gentlemen," said he, going to the door. "I will summon you
in proper time." He looked in the room again. "Is the husband not

intending--"
"That's enough, Judge," said McLean. "There's too many here without

adding him."
"Judge," spoke a voice at the door, "ain't she ready yet?"

"She is still passing away," observed Slaghammer, piously.
"Because I was thinking," said the man-- "I was just--You see, us jury is

dry and dead broke. Doggonedest cards I've held this year, and--Judge,
would there be anything out of the way in me touching my fee in advance,

if it's a sure thing?"
"I see none, my friend," said Slaghammer, benevolently, "since it must

be." He shook his head and nodded it by turns. Then, with full-blown
importance, he sat again, and wrote a paper, his coroner's certificate.

Next door, in Albany County, these vouchers brought their face value of
five dollars to the holder; but on Drybone's neutral soil the saloons

would always pay four for them, and it was rare that any jury-man could
withstand the temptation of four immediate dollars. This one gratefully

received his paper, and, cherishing it like a bird in the hand, he with
his colleagues bore it where they might wait for duty and slake their

thirst.
In the silent room sat Lin McLean, his body coming to life more readily

than his shaken spirit. Barker, seeing that the cow-puncher meant to
watch until the end, brought the whiskey to him. Slaghammer drew

documents from his pocket to fill the time, but was soon in slumber over
them. In all precincts of the quadrangle Drybone was keeping it up late.

The fiddle, the occasional shouts, and the crack of the billiard-balls
travelled clear and far through the vast darkness outside. Presently

steps unsteadily drew near, and round the corner of the door a voice,
plaintive and diffident, said, "Judge, ain't she most pretty near ready?"

"Wake up, Judge!" said Barker. "Your jury has gone dry again."
The man appeared round the door--a handsome, dishevelled fellow--with hat

in hand, balancing himself with respectfulanxiety. Thus was a second
voucher made out, and the messenger strayed back happy to his friends.

Barker and McLean sat wakeful, and Slaghammer fell at once to napping.
From time to time he was roused by new messengers, each arriving more

unsteady than the last, until every juryman had got his fee and no more
messengers came. The coroner slept undisturbed in his chair. McLean and

Barker sat. On the bed the mass, with its pink ribbons, breathed and
breathed, while moths flew round the lamp, tapping and falling with light

sounds. So did the heart of the darkness wear itself away, and through
the stone-cold air the dawn began to filter and expand.

Barker rose, bent over the bed, and then stood. Seeing him, McLean stood
also.

"Judge," said Barker, quietly, "you may call them now." And with careful
steps the judge got himself out of the room to summon his jury.

For a short while the cow-puncher stood looking down upon the woman. She
lay lumped inher gaudiness, the ribbons darkly stained by the laudanum;

but into the stolid, bold features death had called up the faint-colored
ghost of youth, and McLean remembered all his Bear Creek days. "Hind

sight is a turruble clear way o' seein' things," said he. "I think I'll
take a walk."

"Go," said Barker. "The jury only need me, and I'll join you."
But the jury needed no witness. Their long waiting and the advance pay

had been too much for these responsible men. Like brothers they had
shared each others' vouchers until responsibility had melted from their

brains and the whiskey was finished. Then, no longer entertained and
growing weary of Drybone, they had remembered nothing but their distant

beds. Each had mounted his pony, holding trustingly to the saddle, and
thus, unguided, the experienced ponies had taken them right. Across the

wide sagebrush and up and down the river they were now asleep or riding,
dispersed irrevocably. But the coroner was here. He duly received

Barker's testimony, brought his verdict in, and signed it, and even while
he was issuing to himself his own proper voucher for ten dollars came

Chalkeye and Toothpick Kid on their ponies, galloping, eager in their
hopes and good wishes for Mrs. Lusk. Life ran strong in them both. The

night had gone well with them. Here was the new day going to be fine. It
must be well with everybody.

"You don't say!" they exclaimed, taken aback. "Too bad."
They sat still in their saddles, and upon their reckless, kindly faces

thought paused for a moment. "Her gone!" they murmured. "Hard to get used
to the idea. What's anybody doing about the coffin?"

"Mr. Lusk," answered Slaghammer, "doubtless--"
"Lusk! He'll not know anything this forenoon. He's out there in the

grass. She didn't think nothing of him. Tell Bill--not Dollar Bill, Jerky
Bill, yu' know; he's over the bridge--to fix up a hearse, and we'll be

back." The two drove their spurs in with vigorous heels, and instantly
were gone rushing up the road to the graveyard.

The fiddle had lately ceased, and no dancers stayed any longer in the
hall. Eastward the rose and gold began to flow down upon the plain over

the tops of the distant hills. Of the revellers, many had never gone to
bed, and many now were already risen from their excesses to revive in the

cool glory of the morning. Some were drinking to stay their hunger until
breakfast; some splashed and sported in the river, calling and joking;

and across the river some were holding horse-races upon the level beyond
the hog-ranch. Drybone air rang with them. Their lusty, wandering shouts

broke out in gusts of hilarity. Their pistols, aimed at cans or prairie
dogs or anything, cracked as they galloped at large. Their speeding,

clear-cut forms would shine upon the bluffs, and, descending, merge in
the dust their horses had raised. Yet all this was nothing in the

vastness of the growing day.
Beyond their voices the rim of the sun moved above the violet hills, and

Drybone, amid the quiet, long, new fields of radiance, stood august and
strange.

Down along the tall, bare slant from the graveyard the two horsemen were
riding back. They could be seen across the river, and the horse-racers

grew curious. As more and more watched, the crowd began to speak. It was
a calf the two were bringing. It was too small for a calf. It was dead.

It was a coyote they had roped. See it swing! See it fall on the road!
"It's a coffin, boys!" said one, shrewd at guessing.

At that the event of last night drifted across their memories, and they
wheeled and spurred their ponies. Their crowding hoofs on the bridge

brought the swimmers from the waters below and, dressing, they climbed
quickly to the plain and followed the gathering. By the door already were

Jerky Bill and Limber Jim and the Doughie and always more, dashing up
with their ponies; halting with a sharp scatter of gravel to hear and

comment. Barker was gone, but the important coroner told his news. And it
amazed each comer, and set him speaking and remembering past things with