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 turning his hat in his hands. Then: "Thank you, Mr. Thomson, for puttin' me right. I thought if it wouldn't be too much bother to you to git me off—if I wouldn't have to lose too much time"

"It would be a lot of bother to get you off, it's gettin' harder every day to get 'em off," Thomson replied crabbedly.

"Yes sir," Dan Gustin said, respectfully confused.

"They might keep you in jail six months before trial, that's a scheme this new prosecutor's got to break a man and make him so weak he'll convict himself. My advice to you is keep out of it. A cowpuncher's got no business to set up as a killer in these degenerate times, Gustin; that's a luxurious distinction only a man with money can afford. Let that feller go. If he deserves killin', somebody'll come along in time and do it, and save you the trouble and expense."

"He sure deserves it, all right!" Gustin declared, twisting his head in great earnestness.

"Who is he?"

"Feller up in our country," the cowboy replied, evasively.

"All right," said Thomson, after boring him with a gimlet look; "you let him live on. How much money have you got?"

"About sixty dollars."

"That wouldn't patch a bullet—that wouldn't patch a bullet! Killin' isn't as cheap in this country as it was five years ago, young man. What do you reckon it costs to get a man off these times?"

"I don't know, sir, but I thought maybe a hundred