"Gimme that gun," he said hoarsely.
Breckenridge handed him the gun in wonder and slowly gathering suspicion. Madison examined n****e and muzzle; one barrel had been discharged. It was true! The gun dropped from his hand.
"Look here, old man," said Breckenridge, with a darkening face, "there's bin no foul play here. Thar's bin no hiring of men, no deputy to do this job. You did it fair and square—yourself?"
"Yes, by God!" burst out Madison Clay in a hoarse voice. "Who says I didn't?"
Reassured, yet believing that Madison Clay had nerved himself for the act by an over-draught of whiskey, which had affected his memory, Breckenridge said curtly, "Then wake up and 'lite' out, ef ye want me to stand by you."
"Go to the corral and pick me out a hoss," said Madison slowly, yet not without a
