THE VERGE OF CONFESSION Murphy uttered one sputtering cry of surprise, flinging his hand instinctively to his hip, but attempted no more.

Hampton's ready weapon was thrusting its muzzle into the astounded face, and the gray eyes gleaming along the polished barrel held the fellow motionless.
"Hands up! Not a move, Murphy! I have the drop!" The voice was low, but stern, and the old frontiersman obeyed mechanically, although his seamed face was fairly distorted with rage.
"You! Damn you!--I thought I knew--the voice." "Yes, I am here all right.

Rather odd place for us to meet, isn't it?
But, you see, you've had the advantage all these years; you knew whom you were running away from, while I was compelled to plod along in the dark.

But I 've caught up just the same, if it has been a long race." "What do ye--want me fer ?" The look in the face was cunning.
"Hold your hands quiet--higher, you fool! That's it.

Now, don't play with me.