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cisin'. He kept edgin' closer to Bell every turn, and keepin' up a lot of talk to throw Bell off. But Bell happened to be on to his racket that time and just quietly laid down his hand on the butt of his gun. When he did that the Kid seen Bell was on to him and quit exercisin' mighty sudden. I can see that boy's tryin' to figure out some way he can get hold of Bell's six-shooter. And if he ever does, there'll be hell a-poppin'. The Kid's got everythin' to win and nothin' to lose. He might get killed tryin' to escape. But he's got to die on the gallows anyway. So what's the difference?"

"I'm glad you told me this," said Sheriff Garrett. "I'll caution Bell. The Kid don't look dangerous. He's as innocent-lookin' as a schoolboy. But he don't care no more about killin' a man than eatin' his breakfast. He's about as murderous a little hombre as ever stood in shoe leather. Bell's got to know he can't take any chances."

Billy the Kid's smile was almost as famous as his trigger finger. He smiled in victory, he smiled in defeat. His cool, daredevil smile was a part of him. He smiled still in the shadow of the gallows. With death closing in, his smile was as light-hearted and boyish as in his days of freedom. He cracked jokes and laughed at the jokes of others. His talk was light, casual, touched with humour. He seemed less a man about to die than a youth anticipating happy years.

In the whisky glass of life that he had drained, one drop remained and that drop was hope. He retained his gambler's faith in the break of the luck. The one chance in a million that had saved him before might save him again. The cards had run against him. He had lost. But the game was not yet quite over. He still had one white chip left. This lone white chip was his courage. If the cards