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 of death hanging over one's head that way. He was free to walk in the light or the dark with other men, and to pursue the business of his life in the accustomed trend, but he could not be free from the heavy dread of the sudden meeting, the flash of arms, somebody reeling in the road, his gun dropped at his feet. That was a demand note which Dee Winch had taken from him; it must be paid upon presentation.

Even in his room he could not find the relaxation that is due a man without an uncommon care. This thing hung over him, placed him in a vacuum, it seemed, through which the sound of other men's activities came but dimly, and as of things secondary to his own important strait.

It had come between him and all his planning, it stood in the foreground cutting off all view an arm's length beyond. Over his spirits it was as heavy as a debasing drug; in his thoughts it obtruded constantly, like the nagging tone of a hateful voice. The alertness of the hunted was in every nerve; caution had become exaggerated into a pain. There could be no rest, there could be no moment of relaxation for his strained faculties until this thing had been met and finished.

Hartwell had become a listening man.