It was a boy of five who had seen his father murdered. I nearlyfainted with the horror of it， and yet I had to keep a bold andsmiling face； for well I knew that if I did not it would be out of myhouse that they would come next with their bloody hands and itwould be my little Fred that would be screaming for his father.
“But I was a criminal then， part sharer in a murder， lost foreverin this world， and lost also in the next. I am a good Catholic； butthe priest would have no word with me when he heard I was aScowrer， and I am excommunicated from my faith. That’s how itstands with me. And I see you going down the same road， and Iask you what the end is to be. Are you ready to be a cold-bloodedmurderer also， or can we do anything to stop it？”
“What would you do？” asked McMurdo abruptly. “You wouldnot inform？”
“God forbid！” cried Morris. “Sure， the very thought would costme my life.”
“That’s well，” said McMurdo. “I’m thinking that you are a weakman and that you make too much of the matter.”
“Too much！ Wait till you have lived here longer. Look down thevalley！ See the cloud of a hundred chimneys that overshadows it！
I tell you that the cloud of murder hangs thicker and lower thanthat over the heads of the people. It is the Valley of Fear， the Valleyof Death. The terror is in the hearts of the people from the duskto the dawn. Wait， young man， and you will learn for yourself.”
“Well， I’ll let you know what I think when I have seen more，”
said McMurdo carelessly. “What is very clear is that you are notthe man for the place， and that the sooner you sell out—if youonly get a dime a dollar for what the business is worth—the betterit will be for you. What you have said is safe with me； but， by Gar！
if I thought you were an informer—”
“No， no！” cried Morris piteously.
“Well， let it rest at that. I’ll bear what you have said in mind， andmaybe some day I’ll come back to it. I expect you meant kindly byspeaking to me like this. Now I’ll be getting home.”
“One word before you go，” said Morris. “We may have been seentogether. They may want to know what we have spoken about.”
“Ah！ that’s well thought of.”
“I offer you a clerkship in my store.”
“And I refuse it. That’s our business. Well， so long， BrotherMorris， and may you find things go better with you in the future.”
That same afternoon， as McMurdo sat smoking， lost in thoughtbeside the stove of his sitting-room， the door swung open and itsframework was filled with the huge figure of Boss McGinty. Hepassed the sign， and then seating himself opposite to the youngman he looked at him steadily for some time， a look which was assteadily returned.
“I’m not much of a visitor， Brother McMurdo，” he said at last. “Iguess I am too busy over the folk that visit me. But I thought I’dstretch a point and drop down to see you in your own house.”
“I’m proud to see you here， Councillor，” McMurdo answeredheartily， bringing his whisky bottle out of the cupboard. “It’s anhonour that I had not expected.”
“How’s the arm？” asked the Boss.
McMurdo made a wry face. “Well， I’m not forgetting it，” hesaid； “but it’s worth it.”
“Yes， it’s worth it，” the other answered， “to those that are loyaland go through with it and are a help to the lodge. What were youspeaking to Brother Morris about on Miller Hill this morning？”
The question came so suddenly that it was well that he hadhis answer prepared. He burst into a hearty laugh. “Morris didn’tknow I could earn a living here at home. He shan’t know either；for he has got too much conscience for the likes of me. But he’sa good-hearted old chap. It was his idea that I was at a loose end，and that he would do me a good turn by offering me a clerkship ina drygoods store.”
“Oh， that was it？”
“Yes， that was it.”
“And you refused it？”
“Sure. Couldn’t I earn ten times as much in my own bedroomwith four hours’ work？”
“That’s so. But I wouldn’t get about too much with Morris.”
“Why not？”
“Well， I guess because I tell you not. That’s enough for mostfolk in these parts.”
“It may be enough for most folk； but it ain’t enough for me，Councillor，” said McMurdo boldly. “If you are a judge of men，you’ll know that.”
The swarthy giant glared at him， and his hairy paw closed for aninstant round the glass as though he would hurl it at the head ofhis companion. Then he laughed in his loud， boisterous， insincerefashion.
“You’re a queer card， for sure，” said he. “Well， if you wantreasons， I’ll give them. Did Morris say nothing to you against thelodge？”
“No.”
“Nor against me？”
“No.”
“Well， that’s because he daren’t trust you. But in his heart he isnot a loyal brother. We know that well. So we watch him and wewait for the time to admonish him. I’m thinking that the time isdrawing near. There’s no room for scabby sheep in our pen. But ifyou keep company with a disloyal man， we might think that youwere disloyal， too. See？”
“There’s no chance of my keeping company with him； for Idislike the man，” McMurdo answered. “As to being disloyal， if itwas any man but you he would not use the word to me twice.”
“Well， that’s enough，” said McGinty， draining off his glass. “Icame down to give you a word in season， and you’ve had it.”
“I’d like to know，” said McMurdo， “how you ever came to learnthat I had spoken with Morris at all？”
McGinty laughed. “It’s my business to know what goes on inthis township，” said he. “I guess you’d best reckon on my hearingall that passes. Well， time’s up， and I’ll just say—”
But his leavetaking was cut short in a very unexpected fashion.
With a sudden crash the door flew open， and three frowning，intent faces glared in at them from under the peaks of police caps.
McMurdo sprang to his feet and half drew his revolver； but hisarm stopped midway as he became conscious that two Winchesterrifles were levelled at his head. A man in uniform advanced intothe room， a six-shooter in his hand. It was Captain Marvin， onceof Chicago， and now of the Mine Constabulary. He shook his headwith a half-smile at McMurdo.
“I thought you’d be getting into trouble， Mr. Crooked McMurdoof Chicago，” said he. “Can’t keep out of it， can you？ Take your hatand come along with us.”