was a pretty young lady, and her hand was so soft, and her voice--

Chick rammed his hands in his pockets and pulled his cap over his
eyes. This was no way for a cove to be feeling when he had a job to
do! With watchful eyes for passers-by, he slipped through an opening
in the fence, and entered the switch-yard. When he emerged he
staggered under the weight of a crowbar which he vainly tried to hide
under his ragged jacket.

Just at the intersection of Bean Alley and the switch-yard, where the
dusk banked up densely in the corners, he stopped again. He was
watching his chance to get across the wide common, undetected. Twice
he started, and twice he shrank back and flattened himself against the
wall as some one passed.

If, to the casual observer, Chick was but a dirty, ragged little boy,
undersized and underfed, and rather frightened, to himself at least he
was a bold desperado, about to avenge himself for a wrong committed.

Thunder muttered ominously, and a drop of rain fell on his face as he
skirted the common, and reached the big, dark saloon at the cross-
roads. Skirting the side wall, he crept to the rear, and felt for the
open window which he had discovered earlier in the day. It was a low
window and easy of access, and he lost no time in climbing in.

The passage was in utter darkness, but he felt his way along the wall
until he reached a door. Here he fumbled for the knob and opened it. A
street lamp outside threw a dim, wavering light into the room,
revealing the long bar with its shining fixtures. Chick put down his
crowbar and tremblingly removed his coat. According to the moving