undershirt; his abundant black hair was tousled,--some of it, indeed,
having the appearance of standing on end. And in his wide eyes there
was a look of horror. "I didn't hear much of the story. Old man Jones
is telephoning for a doctor and--"

"Did you say that the man was shot?" repeated Barnes, bewildered.
"Wasn't it an automobile accident?"

"Search ME. Gosh, I had one look at that fellow's face down there and
--I didn't hear another word that was said. I never saw a man's face
look like that. It was the colour of grey wall paper. Hurry up! Old
man Jones told me to call you. He says you understand some of the
foreign languages, and maybe you can make out what the poor devil is
trying to say." "Do they know who he is?"

"Sure. He's been staying in the house for three days. The other one
spoke English all right but this one not a word."

"Did they ride away from here about nine o'clock?"

"Yes. They had their own horses and said they were going to spend the
night at Spanish Falls so's they could meet the down train that goes
through at five o'clock in the morning. But hustle along, please. He's
trying to talk and he's nearly gone."

Barnes, buoyed by a sharp feeling of relief, followed the actor
downstairs and into the tap-room. A dozen men were there, gathered
around two tables that had been drawn together. Transient lodgers, in
various stages of dishabille, popped out of all sorts of passageways
and joined the throng. The men about the table, on which was stretched