South-Western Federal Taxation 2016

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CHAPTER 6

DEDUCTIONS AND LOSSES: IN GENERAL

SOLUTIONS TO PROBLEM MATERIALS

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

1. (LO 1) While the Code provides an all-inclusive definition of income, deductions must be specifically
provided for in the Code in order to be permitted.

2. (LO 1) Michael should contribute the maximum amount allowed to his traditional IRA. Because his
contribution is classified as a deduction for AGI, Michael also is eligible to take the standard deduction.

3. (LO 1)
a. Not deductible.

b. Deduction from AGI.

c. Deduction from AGI (subject to 7.5% or 10% floor).

d. Deduction for AGI.

e. Deduction for AGI.

f. Deduction for AGI.

6-1
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6-2 2016 Comprehensive Volume/Solutions Manual

4. (LO 1)
a. Deduction for AGI.

b. Not deductible.

c. Deduction for AGI.

d. $400 deduction from AGI. The $100 principal payment is not deductible.

e. Deduction for AGI (presuming that time and distance tests are met).

f. Deduction from AGI.

5. (LO 1) Investment expenses associated with rental property or royalty property are deductible for AGI.
Other investment expenses are deductible from AGI. Susan evidently has invested in rental or royalty
property, whereas Larry has invested in other investment property.

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 Deductions and Losses: In General 6-3

6. (LO 1) Nanette is eligible to deduct the charitable contributions of $800 and the personal property taxes
of $240 as itemized deductions (deductions from AGI). However, because the standard deduction for
2015 of $6,300 is greater than her itemized deductions of $1,040, she should claim the standard
deduction. In addition, she is allowed the $225 under the teacher’s supplies provision as a deduction
for AGI (assuming Congress extends this provision to 2015).

7. (LO 1) The statutory language of the Code refers to reasonableness only with respect to salaries and
other compensation. However, the courts have held that for any business expense to be ordinary and
necessary, it must also be reasonable in amount.

8. (LO 1) The tax consequences to Dave for the residence and the business portions are different. The
casualty loss on the residence is a personal loss that is deducted from AGI as an itemized deduction.
No such adjustments are required for the casualty loss on the business portion; this loss is a business
loss which is a deduction for AGI.

9. (LO 1) Rental income and expenses are reported on Schedule E (Supplemental Income or Loss) of
Form 1040.

10. (LO 2) Cash basis taxpayers can deduct an expense only when it has been paid with cash or other
property. Borrowing the money to pay the expense (or charging it on a bank credit card) constitutes
actual payment.

However, actual payment does not ensure a current deduction. For example, capital expenditures must
be capitalized. Subsequently, the expenditure may be amortized, depleted, or depreciated. Except in
certain circumstances, prepaid items cannot be currently deducted.

11. (LO 2)
a. It is doubtful that Aubry can deduct the $65,000 of supplies in 2015 because he was motivated
by tax considerations (i.e., to manipulate income).

b. If Aubry bought the supplies at a discount, he would be motivated by business reasons other
than tax reduction. Because the supplies would be used within the following year, the
Zaninovich case indicates that Aubry could deduct the supplies.

12. (LO 3) No, Clear cannot deduct the fines because they are payments in violation of traffic laws.

13. (LO 3) The two issues involved are whether the payment should be made and, if made, is it deductible.
If the payment is made to the representatives of a U.S. company, it would be a bribe. It not only would
be nondeductible but also could result in criminal charges. If the payment is made to the representative
of the foreign company, more than likely it would be an accepted trade practice in that country. In this
case, because the payment would not violate the U.S. Foreign Corrupt Practices Act of 1977, it would
be deductible. If the payment did violate the U.S. Corrupt Practices Act of 1977, it would not be
deductible.

14. (LO 3) No. Legal fees incurred in connection with a criminal defense are deductible only if the crime
is associated with the taxpayer’s trade or business or income-producing activity. Because Stuart does
not satisfy this requirement, the attorney’s fee is not deductible.

15. (LO 3) Even though this is an illegal business, expenditures that are ordinary, necessary, and reasonable
are deductible. The bribes paid to city employees (a.) and kickbacks to police (d.) are not deductible
because they violate public policy. All of the other items are deductible (b., c., e., f., g., and h.).

16. (LO 3) No, a deduction is not permitted for political contributions.

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6-4 2016 Comprehensive Volume/Solutions Manual

17. (LO 3) Lobbying expenses generally are not deductible. Therefore, if Melissa pays the $1,500 to a
professional lobbyist, the payment is not deductible. However, a de minimis exception provides that in-
house lobbying expenditures not exceeding $2,000 per year can be deducted. Thus, if Melissa spends
the $1,500 on in-house lobbying expenditures, she can deduct this amount. Note that if the in-house
expenditures had exceeded $2,000, none of the in-house expenditures could have been deducted.

18. (LO 3) The compensation must be reasonable; this limitation is most often an issue for closely held
corporations.

For publicly traded corporations, the deduction is limited to $1 million annually for the principal
executive officer, the principal financial officer, and the three other most highly compensated
executives. This provision does not apply to commissions based on individual performance and
performance-based compensation tied to overall company performance.

19. (LO 3)
a. Apparently the business being investigated by Paul was a restaurant. Because Paul is already
in the restaurant business, he can deduct all of the investigation expenses of $7,000 whether or
not he acquires a new business.
b. Evidently the business being investigated was not a restaurant and Paul did not acquire the
business. Consequently, he is not allowed any deduction for the expenses.
c. The business being investigated by Paul in Columbus was not a restaurant, but Paul did acquire
the business. Therefore, he can take a limited deduction of $5,000 and amortize the balance as
startup costs over a 180-month period.

20. (LO 3) In prior years, the beach house has been classified as a rental property because the personal use
(exactly 14 days) did not exceed the greater of 14 days or 10% of rental days (200 × 10% = 20 days).
Thus, if the total available deductions exceeded the rental income, the loss could be deducted on Karen
and Andy’s tax return. If Sarah is permitted to use the beach house for 7 days, the total personal use
days of 21 will exceed the statutory limit of 20 days (i.e., 10% of rental days of 200). In this case, the
deductions are permitted only to the extent of the rental income. What needs to be determined are
whether the deductions do exceed the rental income and whether Sarah wants to use it for a full 7 days.

21. (LO 3) Hank can deduct property taxes and mortgage interest from January 1 to March 1 as an itemized
deduction from AGI. The home was his personal residence during that period. For the rest of the year,
from March 1 through December 31, he can deduct property taxes, mortgage interest, depreciation, and
all other expenses for AGI as rental expenses. The “qualified rental period” requirements have been
met. He has converted his personal residence into rental property, and no allocation of expenses need
be made, even if there is a rental loss.

22. (LO 3)
a. For Ray to deduct the interest, he needs to make the payment to the mortgage company. Thus,
Ted could give the money to Ray so that Ray pays the mortgage company.
b. If Ted pays the mortgage company directly, Ted cannot deduct the interest because it is not his
obligation. Ray would not be permitted the deduction because he did not make the payment.
c. The obligation is that of Ray and not Ted. Thus, Ted is not permitted to deduct the interest even
if he makes the payment directly to the mortgage company.

23. (LO 3) Most legal expenses related to a divorce are of a personal nature. Such expenses are deductible
only if related to tax advice. These expenses should be itemized on the attorney's bill.

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 Deductions and Losses: In General 6-5

If legal expenses for a divorce are related to a trade or business activity or to an income-producing
activity, they are deductible if they are ordinary and necessary expenditures.

24. (LO 3) The tax issue is whether Ella will be able to deduct the loss on the sale of the stock. If the
transferee is a related party under § 267, the realized loss is disallowed. Otherwise, the realized loss is
recognized.
The gift to the other relative has no effect on the sales transaction. Although no income tax
consequences result, the imposition of a Federal gift tax should be considered.

25. (LO 3)
a. Although Jarret receives interest payments of $3,800, this entire amount is excluded from his
gross income. Interest on municipal bonds is tax-exempt.
b. None of Jarret’s interest payments of $4,900 on the loan can be deducted. The proceeds of the
loan were used to purchase tax-exempt bonds. Consequently, the interest expense deduction is
disallowed. Likewise, none of the principal payments of $1,100 can be deducted because this
is merely the payment of a liability.

COMPUTATIONAL EXERCISES

26. (LO 2)
a. The entire $8,400 is deductible since the benefit from the payment will be completely received
by the end of 2016.
b. Since the benefit from the payment will not be completely received by the end of 2016,
the only payments deductible in 2015 are for the benefits received in 2015 (nine months;
$8,400 × 9/24 = $3,150).

27. (LO 2)
a. Under the cash method, Falcon can deduct only the salaries paid of $500,000. The $45,000 of
unpaid salaries can be deducted when paid next year.
b. Under the accrual method, the $500,000 is deductible because both the all-events test and the
economic-performance test are satisfied. These tests also are satisfied for the $45,000 of unpaid
and accrued salaries. Consequently, Falcon can deduct the $45,000 for a total deduction of
$545,000 ($500,000 + $45,000).

28. (LO 2) Maud can deduct $120,000 in 2015 for the rent for February 2015 through July 2016. She
does qualify under the one-year rule for prepaid expenses because the period for which
prepayments have been made does not extend past December 31, 2016.

29. (LO 3) All ordinary and necessary expenses incurred in operating an illegal business are deductible.
Expenses that are in violation of public policy are not deductible (bribes and illegal kickbacks). All
other expenses, which total $291,400, are deductible.

30. (LO 3)
a. $25,000 × 60% = $10,000.
b. $0; if in-house lobbying expenditures exceed $2,000, none of the in-house expenditures
can be deducted.
31. (LO 3) Since Stanford is not in the restaurant business and he does not acquire the restaurant, the
$28,000 is not deductible.

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 Dexter watched in silence for a space, and then quietly interrupted the
work. "My hand isn't quite as pudgy as yours," he remarked. "Maybe
mine'll go through."

The man's fingers opened with a jerk, his knife fell to the ground, and
he whirled with a choking gasp to stare behind him.

Dexter smiled as he observed the reddish, flabby face that had turned
his direction. The man was the outlaw, "Pink" Crill.

CHAPTER XXXI

ILL-FAVORED COMPANY

For an interval of ten seconds Crill stood like a man turned to putty,
his mouth sagging as though it had suddenly lost muscular support, his
babyish complexion changing to a sickly grayish hue. "Where—what the
—?" he started to mutter, and then somehow failed to find the words to
finish.

"You're wondering how I got here?" inquired the corporal politely. "I
merely followed down through the pass. I didn't die under that fallen
tree, as you probably supposed."

"What are you doing here?" the officer pursued as Crill continued
speechless. "Locked yourself out, or something? What's inside that
makes it worth so much trouble to reach the bar?

"Find out for myself if you're tongue-tied," he added after a moment

of straining silence. With revolver in hand he moved forward and kicked
the door panel with his heavy boot. "Hello!" he called out. "Anybody in
there?"

As he paused to listen he caught a creaking sound within, light

footsteps approached the threshold, and a faint, frightened voice spoke
through the door. "Oh—who is it?" some one asked breathlessly.
 It was a woman—Alison Rayne: and his eyes grew thoughtful as he
recognized her voice. She had called to him, and the far cry in some
wondrous manner had reached him when he stood at the head of the
pass, miles away. A miracle had been wrought, and he could not guess its
manner of accomplishment. He did not try, but turned to Crill with a
direful glance.

"So—you were trying to cut your way through the door!" he said
harshly. His fingers unconsciously tightened upon the butt of his gun, but
after measuring the man up and down, he swung around to the cabin
entrance. "Alison!" he called. "It's I—Dexter."

"Oh, thanks—thanks!" he heard the girl say in a half sobbing voice;

then the bar was thrown up, the door opened, and Alison stumbled
forward to meet him.

He looked searchingly into the blue eyes that lifted to his. "What
happened?" he asked.

"This man!" she said with a shudder. "I barred myself inside, and he
—he's been trying to cut his way through the door—working for hours
with his knife blade. He—he's a beast!"

The corporal favored Crill with a saturnine stare. "Well, he'll have
something else to think about from now on," he remarked grimly.
"There's a beam and a rope and a trap waiting for him in the Cook
County jail yard."

"I ain't there yet," said the outlaw, with a throaty effort of speech.

Dexter ignored the man, and glanced again at Alison. "Why did you
leave me?" he asked. "I trusted your word, you know."

She faced him with level gaze. "My word is good," she said quietly. "I
had every intention of coming back."

"Then what—"

"My brother, of course," she interrupted. "I didn't think he could be

far ahead of us, and I knew he'd have to stop for the night. I was afraid
he might not get started early enough this morning, so I came on ahead,
hoping that I might find him at this cabin. I meant to warn him to hurry
on before you could overtake him."

"So it was only pretense last night—you're being too tired to travel."

"I was very tired," she said, "but—well, I admit I was able to go a
little farther—after you were asleep."

Dexter could not help smiling at her frankness. "And you found your
brother here at this cabin?"

"No. I thought he'd be here, but I guess he didn't stop. He must have
hurried on in the night."

"To catch up with Stark, I suppose?"

She shook her head. "I don't know anything about Stark," she told
him.

The corporal turned to Crill. "Where are your friends?" he asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" said the other with a sullen leer.

"I imagine that I do know," replied the officer placidly. "Probably not
far ahead. You came back over the trail, I presume—after something
you'd forgotten. And found Miss Rayne here. However it doesn't matter
why you came. You're here. That's all I'm interested in knowing."

He eyed the outlaw somberly, wondering at the fact that he had risked
a night abroad without a weapon. "What became of your rifle?" he
inquired.

"Lost it in that cursed creek," was the reply. "Had to grab a rock when
I was wading across, and the gun slipped from my hand. If it hadn't been
for that, you wouldn't be standing there now asking me questions."

Dexter shrugged his shoulders lightly. "Let's go inside and cook bacon
and coffee," he suggested. "I don't imagine any of us has had breakfast."

He stood warily aside and motioned towards the doorway, and after an
instant's hesitation, the outlaw stepped forward and passed into the cabin.
Dexter followed at his heels, and shut the door behind him.
 There was but one room in the place—a solid walled chamber with a
fireplace and built-in bunk, and three or four pieces of rude furniture
scattered about. A packing box in the center of the floor apparently
served as a table. Above it, from a ceiling beam, hung a lighted lantern.
The corporal glanced swiftly about him and saw that the structure did not
differ in any essential from the two cabins in the valley on the southern
side of the pass. There were cooking utensils, a shelf full of provisions,
and plenty of cut firewood. Evidently the place was one of a line of way
stations intended for the accommodation of Stark's transient guests.

Dexter indicated a slab stool in the corner, and told Crill to sit down.
He dropped the revolver into the side pocket of his jacket where it might
be easily reached. "I won't hesitate to kill you," he said quietly. He eyed
the outlaw's huge shoulders and big, ham-like hands, and knew that
without the use of his right arm he could not hope to last two seconds in
a physical encounter. "You stay your distance, always," he pursued. "The
dead line is five feet and if you come nearer than that to me at any time,
I'm going to let you have it."

Having delivered himself of his warning, he turned casually aside,

laid kindling in the hearth, and built a fire. He ransacked a cupboard,
helped himself to such provisions as he found there, and started breakfast
for three people. Then, while the coffee pot was simmering, he stood as
close as he dared to the fire, drying his dripping clothes.

Alison had come forward to toast the bacon, and he found a chance to
talk to her, without being overheard by Crill.

"I heard your call for help," he told her. "The place was seven or eight
miles from here. How was it done?"

"I may have cried out," she said. "I—I was terribly frightened when I
realized that this man was cutting through the door to reach the latch."

"I heard your voice—recognized it," he persisted. "It was as though it

had carried to me on the breeze from a great distance. And you spoke my
name." He eyed her keenly. "How did you make me hear?"

Her glance shifted, and she refused to meet his gaze. "It could have
been just your imagination," she said after a little pause. "I—I was in
great trouble, and it could be that by a—some strange occult way my
thoughts and fears were carried to you. Queer things like that have
happened—things that none of us can understand." Her eyes softened as
she lifted them fleetingly to his face. "But whatever it was you heard or
fancied you heard, you came to me. I shall never forget that."

He regarded her tensely for a moment, and shook his head. Whatever
the mystery of the far-off voice, she had no intention of confiding the
truth to him. After all, he was her enemy, and he could expect no help
from her in solving riddles. And from previous experience he knew how
futile it was to cross-question her when she had made up her mind to
keep silent. He smiled lightly. "All right," he said. "It's evident that Stark
and his guests have some uncanny method of projecting voices through
the wilderness. And you're wise not to tip yourselves off to the police.
But whatever the system is, I'm glad at least that I heard, and got here in
time."

The breakfast preparations were finished in silence, and while the girl
put plates on the packing box table, he poured the coffee and served the
grilled bacon strips, Crill was motioned to a place at the table opposite
Dexter, and he sat down sullenly to eat.

"How did you reach this island?" the corporal was reminded to ask
Alison as she pulled up a chair at his left hand.

"Why, I waded across," she said in apparent surprise. "It wasn't deep."

Dexter looked up from his plate with a start. "How deep?" he

demanded.

"Not up to my knees."

"When did you reach here?" he asked sharply.

"Early in the morning. Several hours before you came."

The corporal suddenly pushed his stool back from the table and stood
up. "Come with me, Crill," he commanded. "I want you where I can keep
an eye on you." He pointed towards the doorway. The outlaw stared at
him from under lowering brows, but after a sharp exchange of glances,
the man got up reluctantly and moved across the room.
 Dexter forced his prisoner to precede him outside the cabin, and
together they walked down through the timber to the edge of the rapids.
The corporal looked across the rushing, tumbling surface of the stream,
and his worst fear was realized. The water had risen at least half a foot
since he had crossed. Presumably an ice jam had broken somewhere in
the mountains, and the flood was released. Some of the bowlders he had
clung to now had disappeared from sight. He had barely managed to
force the passage when he came from the opposite bank, and the few
added inches of depth made the return impossible. He and Alison and
Crill were marooned on the island, and it might be many days before the
stream subsided sufficiently for them to dare the return trip. Meanwhile,
it was a certainty that Stark and the others of his gang would soon be
returning to look for the missing Crill.

CHAPTER XXXII

COPPERHEAD

Before the disconcerting discovery that he was trapped on the island,

Dexter had already framed his tentative plans for the future. The capture
of the Chicago outlaw at such a time had left him in a rather
embarrassing situation. The man was too important a prisoner to take any
chance on his escape. But to keep him in custody meant constant danger.
Stark was not a person to let a belt full of gold slip through his fingers,
and he undoubtedly would scour the woods to find its wearer.

Dexter had decided to play safe. It would be suicidal to push on

northward where he was almost certain to encounter members of Stark's
crowd; so he had made up his mind to turn back through the valley he
had just quitted, make his way out through the southern gateway, and
escort his two prisoners to Fort Dauntless. It was entirely possible that he
might meet a party of re-enforcing police somewhere on the way. In any
event he had discovered the route through the north pass, and after he
had delivered Alison and Crill into safekeeping he could have returned
with comrades to renew the hunt. Stark probably would continue his
operations, and in some way or another the old trail could have been
picked up.

But it was too late now to adopt the wiser course. There was nothing
to be done but to sit still to wait until the stream might be forded again.
And if Crill's companions put in their expected appearance, the corporal
must fight them single-handed, with a thousand to one chance against his
winning.

Dexter's face was an unreadable mask as he surveyed the turbulent

waters, but Crill evidently understood the situation as well as he did. The
outlaw exhibited his yellow teeth in a grin of saturnine gloating.

"Got yourself in a hole that you won't get out of alive," he remarked.
"My gang'll be here after me, you bet, and when they come there'll be
one less cop on the royal police force."

"The cops of the mounted do drop out at intervals," admitted the

corporal calmly. "But there's always a new one to fill up the ranks. So
that's all right." He smiled almost genially. "Meanwhile I advise you to
step very carefully. Come on. We'll go back."

The three island castaways spent a long and tedious day in the cabin
between the thundering rapids. Dexter found a few old dog-eared
magazines that helped him beguile the dragging hours, but he was forced
to do his reading in broken snatches, with one eye watching Crill or
shifting restlessly towards the open door, through which he could see
along the farther bank of the water-course.

The outlaw for his part did everything he could to keep his captor's
nerves on edge. He had opened a window shutter, and found himself a
seat on a bench under the sill. Part of the time he stared off downstream
with an air of grim expectancy, as though he were confident that his
friends would soon appear. At other moments he would swing around to
fix Dexter with venomous, unwinking eyes. At intervals he would spring
up from his stool and peer out the window, pretending that he had caught
sight of some one approaching through the forest; only to sit down again
with a mocking, throaty laugh when the corporal also lifted his head to
look. Twice he lurched to his feet and started truculently across the room,
moved apparently by a sudden savage impulse to hurl himself upon his
captor. On one such occasion he advanced so near that the officer
dropped the magazine he was reading and reached for his revolver.
Whereupon Crill's face relaxed in an evil smirk, and he swaggered back
to the bench to renew his vigil at the window.

Dexter would have liked to put an end to the man's antics by tying
him hand and foot; but he could not hope to accomplish the job with only
one serviceable arm. If Crill once laid hands on him he unquestionably
would be crushed and beaten down by sheer bulk and weight of flesh.
His only dependence were the three cartridges left in Alison Rayne's
revolver, and the outlaw well knew that he would not fire, except in an
extreme emergency.

The officer could have called on Alison to help him, and because of
her fear of the murderer she probably would have consented; but the girl
was also his prisoner, and it was a matter of pride and honor with him
not to seek favors where duty forbade him to grant favors in return. So
he made the best of matters by keeping his temper and patience, and
maintaining unceasing vigilance.

For Alison the day passed with less monotony. The mere fact of being
under a roof again served to awaken feminine instincts of orderliness,
and she spent the entire afternoon cleaning the dirty and untidy cabin.
She swept the floor, dusted the larder shelves, and scrubbed and scoured
all the cooking utensils she could find about the place. Later she baked a
pan of biscuits, and contrived an amazingly appetizing pudding, made of
corn meal and dried apples and molasses, with bear fat for shortening.

That evening Dexter sat down to the first civilized dinner he had
tasted in months; and when he finally finished, he got up with a guilty
knowledge of having over-eaten. He was a bit alarmed to discover that
he had grown very drowsy. To sleep soundly with Crill in the cabin
meant to invite death, so he took the precaution of brewing an extra pot
of strong coffee to drink before he turned in for the night.

There was only one bunk in the cabin, and this was allotted to Alison.
Crill was ordered to spread his blankets before the fireplace, while
Dexter made his bed by the opposite wall, where he could guard the front
door. Before he retired he took a charred stick from the hearth and drew
a half circle around the section of floor assigned to the outlaw.
 "Your deadline," he remarked with somber emphasis. "If you stir
beyond that mark I'll shoot you down without asking a question. Good
night."

Through the long hours of darkness Dexter was permitted but little
rest. At times he dozed off, but with every faint creak of sound about the
cabin his hand reached automatically towards his revolver and he sat up,
wide awake and staring, expecting any moment to see a crouching bulk
stealing upon him from the shadow of the hearth. Three times during the
night he left the cabin to circle the little island and to gaze up and down
the moonlit shore across the way. On each of these occasions he forced
Crill to get up and accompany him, and while the man muttered and
grumbled over the indignity of being kept awake, he obeyed. Morning
arrived at last, and although the outlaw had not yet ventured to make any
hostile move, Dexter was fagged by his long vigil, and he knew that
flesh and blood could not endure many more such nights.

Except for the fact that time seemed to drag more slowly, the second
day was a repetition of the first. The corporal grew heavy-eyed as the
hours passed, and by mid-afternoon he would have sold the tunic off his
back for a thirty minutes' nap. He drank enormous quantities of coffee,
and with Crill as his companion, went outdoors at frequent intervals to
tramp doggedly up and down the banks of the rising stream, forcing
himself to stay awake.

Alison alone had obtained her full night's rest, and she awakened
fresh and clear-eyed, to resume her self-imposed duties about the cabin.
She prepared the meals and washed the dishes, and smilingly, but
stubbornly, refused to let any one help. When dinner was ready that
evening she insisted on her companions sitting down ahead of her, while
she waited on table.

"You make me feel like a scoundrel," Dexter protested as she forcibly

pushed him to his stool and placed a steaming plate before him. "I don't
just see why you're called upon to be the maid of all work."

She laughed pleasantly, and leaned lightly against his shoulder to put
his coffee cup on the table. "It saves one from going crazy," she
explained—"having something to keep the hands and mind occupied. I'm
really glad to do it, and I don't want anybody bothering me."
 Before the officer could say anything further, she moved away and
bent in seeming absorption over a kettle she had left bubbling in the
fireplace. A look of gentleness stole momentarily into Dexter's gray
eyes, and without thinking what he was doing, he half turned on his stool
to watch the slim, boyish figure bending before the hearth. For the
instant he forgot that Crill was seated on the other side of the table,
almost within arm's reach. His glance was tracing the graceful curve of
the girl's throat and chin, shadowed in the ruddy glow of the fire, when
some guarding sentinel of the brain gave him warning.

With a startled breath he whirled about, just in time to see Crill rise
from his seat and fling himself across the table.

Dexter caught a glimpse of an evil, bloated face and two slits of eyes,
glaring with ugly purpose. The table was overturned with a crash, and
Crill lunged forward, reaching with his ponderous hands.

The corporal felt murderous fingers at his throat, but in the fraction of
an instant vouchsafed him he twisted away, threw himself backwards and
fell from his stool. He caught his weight on his left hand, and then,
before his heavier assailant could drop upon him, he sprang to his feet,
and a cat-like leap carried him back to the cabin wall.

Even as he dodged across the room, Dexter's hand had gone to his
jacket pocket. If the man still came on, he must shoot him down. His
fingers started to close upon the butt of his revolver, and found nothing
to take hold of. A limp, helpless feeling came over him as he waited at
bay, with his shoulders backed against the wall. His weapon was not in
his pocket.

CHAPTER XXXIII

HIGH STAKES

At times before this the corporal had faced death without a tremor of
fear. Now, as he looked into the malignant face, hideous and bestial,
looming before him in the shadow of the fireplace, he felt loathing and
disgust, but he was not afraid. Crill outweighed him by nearly a hundred
pounds; he was crippled, unarmed, defenseless. Yet as he felt the logs
behind him, and knew there was no further retreat, the beat of his pulse
grew slow and regular and an icy calmness gripped him.

His hand was still in his pocket, and he kept it there. "Stop!" he said
in a low, chilling voice.

The outlaw checked himself in mid-stride, and as though drawn by

hypnotic force, his glance wavered and focussed itself upon the pocket of
the corporal's jacket. He balanced on his feet for an instant with tensely
drawn muscles, torn between the madness to kill and the craven dread of
taking a chance.

"Back!" commanded Dexter, his hand gripped rigidly in his lifted

pocket.

For the length of a breath the murderer hesitated; a shifty, furtive look
crept into his squinting eyes; his hands closed and opened again, and his
arms fell slowly against his sides; and then, with a hoarse sound in his
throat, his gross body relaxed, and he half stumbled backwards on his
heel.

A hot thrill of exultance surged through Dexter's veins as he realized

that he had won; but his voice remained frigid and the expression of his
face did not change. "Pick up that table!" he ordered.

A sullen red color surged up over Crill's neck and ears, and his lips
drew apart in a wolfish snarl; but something in Dexter's glance schooled
him to silence. Without a word he turned on his heel, slouched back
across the room, stooped over the table, and turned it back on its four
legs.

"All right!" said Dexter, the note of triumph erased from his speech.
"Also the dishes, if you don't mind!"

Knowing now that the man would obey him, he turned aside and
sauntered across the floor to confront Alison. And it needed but a glance
at her frightened, guilty face to tell him what had become of his revolver.
He recalled now how she had leaned against him when she gave him his
cup of coffee. As he remembered, he had the gun a few minutes before
when he sat down at the table. She must have made the opportunity
deliberately, and extracted the revolver from his pocket without his
knowledge.

He scrutinized her for a moment in grim questioning, wondering what

her purpose might have been. Was it her intention to strip him of his only
means of defense, and leave him at the mercy of his enemies? The
supposition was unthinkable, and with his first glimpse of Alison's eyes
he dismissed it as an unworthy and horrible thought. There were two
other possibilities: either she wanted the revolver for her own protection,
or else she had taken it to get rid of evidence that might some day be
used against her.

He knew that she must have the gun concealed about her person, but
he dared not try to get it back again, or ask her why she had taken it. His
life was an insurable risk only as long as Crill might be kept in ignorance
of the truth.

"Your boarders owe you an apology," he remarked with a sardonic

smile. "It isn't polite to be jumping up and down from the dinner table.
But we'll both try to behave ourselves in the future." Alison was
crouching by the fireplace with a smoking skillet in her hand, staring at
the corporal with wide, awe-stricken eyes. She had seen him coerce a
madman by sheer force of nerve, and the swift frustration of tragedy had
left her breathless and trembling.

"If you don't mind," resumed Dexter in faint mockery, "we'll go on

with the next course. The loss of the first is irreparable, but we'll try to
forget it."

"I—there's enough left in the pot—I can fill your plates again," the
girl stammered, and he knew that she had no sense of what she was
saying.

The corporal nodded quietly, crossed the room and took his place at
the table, opposite the glowering Crill. Alison came forward in
trepidation to remove the empty plates; and for the present at least, the
incident was closed.
 Dexter returned to his dinner with unaffected appetite, quite as though
nothing had happened; and when he had finished he pushed back his
stool and invited his sulky companion to go outside with him for a walk.

The branching creek still rushed in swollen torrents around the little
island, boiling and roaring among the rocks, carrying masses of ice and
gyrating tree trunks along with the currents. The flood ran level with the
high-water mark of the afternoon, and apparently the spring rise had
reached its highest stage. From now on the water probably would
gradually recede, but Dexter knew by previous experience with
wilderness freshets, it might take two or three days longer before he
could expect to recross the ford. He scanned the length of turbulent
rapids, and shook his head. If Stark's party failed to show up in the
meanwhile, and if he could force himself to stay awake for two more
days and nights, he might escape from the island. But at that moment the
prospects were not cheering.

When he went back to the cabin, he ordered Crill to retire into his
marked circle before the fireplace. "I'm not going to stand for any more
foolishness," he remarked with an assurance he was far from feeling.
"That's your spot, and I advise you to stay in it."

Alison had already crept into her bunk. Her soft hair was tumbled
over her face, and her head lay pillowed on her extended arm. She
seemed to be asleep. Dexter looked down at her, and his lips quivered
into a wistful, tender smile. For a moment he stood motionless in the
concealing shadow by the bunk, and then, with a slow-drawn breath he
tiptoed across the floor to dim the light of the lantern. A brief inspection
of the inner premises assured him that the door and window shutters
were fastened, and he retreated to his own corner of the room to take up
his second night's vigil.

The fear that he might go to sleep had grown like a haunting specter
in his mind. He knew that if he once allowed himself to drop off, he
would sink into a deep slumber, from which there would be no
awakening. Afraid to lie down, he planted himself on a stool, leaned his
head and shoulders against the wall, and made himself as comfortable as
he dared.

So he spent the night, listening as in an evil dream to the mutter of the

rapids outside, nodding and dozing, but arousing himself each time he
felt the muscles of his body begin to sag; conning over all the fragments
of verse he could remember, doing sums in mental arithmetic; somehow
forcing his reluctant brain to keep on functioning. He managed to watch
out the night, but dawn found him slumping on his stool, haggard and
hollow-eyed, knowing that he could not stick it out for many hours more.

By the exertion of all his will power, he managed to hold his leaden
eyes open through the interminable hours of daylight. The forking waters
had begun to fall, inch by inch. The channel, however, was still too deep
for wading. By morning, perhaps, he might venture the crossing. He had
not quite decided what he would do if he succeeded in reaching the open
shore opposite, but his common sense advised him to let Crill escape. At
least he could then creep off in hiding and sleep. Even if he lost a day or
two it would not be too late to take up the trail again. But for the present
he was in the situation of the trapper who caught the grizzly by the tail.
He had his prisoner captive, and he couldn't let go.

The prospect of fighting off sleep through another night appalled him.
Coffee had lost the power to stimulate his nerves, and he found himself
moving about in a sort of daze, obsessed by the fear that he might doze
off, even while he stood on his feet. He had read and re-read all the
magazines in the cabin, and out of desperation that evening he sought
about him for something to occupy his mind. On the back of one of the
shelves he discovered a greasy pack of playing cards. He riffled the deck
under his thumb, and cast a speculative glance towards Crill.

"Ever play any cards?" he inquired.

The outlaw looked over his shoulder with a twisted grin. "Sure," he
said—"when they make it interesting. But no piker stuff!"

"What do you call piker stuff?"

"Slipping 'em off for dimes." Crill fixed the officer with his beady
glance. "How much you got on you?"

Dexter shook his head depreciatingly. Money was of no use to a man

in the wilderness, and when he had ridden out from Crooked Forks on
long patrol, nearly a year ago, he carried in his pocket only a few dollars
in cash that had been left from his last August's pay.
 He produced two small bills, and at sight of the numerals Crill
laughed raucously. "You don't think I'm going to fool around any with
crockery marbles, do you?" he jeered. He started to turn away, but
checked himself instantly, and faced the corporal with a sobered
expression. "At that," he added, "you've got something I could use," he
added. "If you want to get away from the little boy stuff, maybe we can
talk."

"Yes?" said the corporal, a little puzzled. "What have I got?"

"Me!"

"What?"

"You get me." Crill's thick lips parted in a crafty smile. "I got three
thousand in gold in my belt, and ten coarse notes that bring the total to
fifteen grand. That's something for you to shoot at. And all you got to put
up is something that don't cost you anything."

"Let's get this straight," said Dexter, his eyes narrowing. "You wish to
play cards with me, you putting up money, I staking—your freedom?"

"You said it," replied the other tensely. "You got it quick."

"Just how would such a game be played?" asked Dexter in a smooth,

milky tone.

"Poker—Jacks—the draw to fill—and a show-down." The outlaw

drew a breath of kindling excitement. "Five hundred bucks at a smash—
you swearing to let me go if you lose. If you win you've got some velvet
to go on. And we keep going until you break me or I break you. Simple?"

"Quite!" Dexter stood for a moment in meditative silence. He had

already decided to let his prisoner go, if he ever got the chance. So
whether he should win or lose in this game of strangely matched stakes,
the police were out nothing. There was no point of honor involved. The
main consideration was the game itself. There ought to be enough
interest in such an encounter to keep him awake, and no matter what the
cost, he must not sleep to-night.
 "If I should agree to release you," he said after a pause, "the promise
goes only that far. I would give you only a day's start, and then I go after
you again."

"A day's start is enough for me to shake any cop," returned Crill with
a sneer.

"Another thing," pursued the corporal quietly: "If we play, we play

fair. I want you to be entirely satisfied—as I know you wish me to be—
that fortune alone governs the turn. An impartial third person deals the
cards."

"Eh?" The outlaw looked up with an ugly scowl. "Who, for instance?"

"Miss Rayne, I'm sure, wouldn't mind dealing for each of us in turn."

Crill shifted his lowering glance from Dexter to the girl and his scowl
changed gradually to an oily smirk. "All right, lady, you do it," he said.
He snapped his fingers, devil-may-care. "Let's go!" he invited.

CHAPTER XXXIV

GAMBLERS' OATHS

While the two men were settling the business at hand, Alison had
stood by in silence, looking curiously from one to the other, a little
bewildered, and also a little frightened by the singular turn of events. But
as Dexter faced her, her head went up resolutely, and she mutely
questioned him with her eyes.

"If you don't mind?" he asked with a smile.

"Why, no, not if you wish it," she replied.

"Please," he said. He placed a third stool at the table and laid the pack
of cards before her. Then he coolly turned up the wick of the hanging
lantern, so that the full light fell on the center of the board. Crill settled
his bulk on a stool facing the fireplace, and Dexter slipped casually into
the seat opposite.

The girl picked up the deck, and her slim hands were not quite steady
as she started to shuffle the cards. "Ready?" she asked in a stifled voice.

"Let 'em go, lady," said the outlaw, and Dexter's fist clenched as he
caught the leering glance across the table.

"Five apiece, isn't it?" Alison inquired without looking up.

"Five," the corporal said—"and one at a time."

Awkwardly she dealt from the pack, and waited with parted lips while
the two men reached for their cards. Crill left his cards face down on the
table, and warily bent up the corners to examine the pips. Dexter raked
his hand towards him, gazed openly at the spots, and nodded.

"I have them," he remarked, and dropped two cards in front of him.
"Draw three, please."

"One!" muttered Crill. "Throw 'em face up."

The overweighted silence was broken only by the soft, silky sound of
cards slipping off the pack. A three of spades, a ten of clubs and a queen
of hearts fell to the corporal's allotment, and with a quiet movement he
turned over a pair of queens. "Threes," he announced.

Crill stared at a nine of spades that Alison had dropped in front of

him, and sucked in his lips with an audible sound. "Just missed a flush,"
he said, and laughed disagreeably. "They're all pink but that one. First
blood for you."

"Pay me," said Dexter.

"You get yours, all right," returned the outlaw between set teeth. He
stirred heavily on his stool, opened his coat, and unbuckled a sagging
chamois belt, which he deposited with a thump on the table. He
unbuttoned one of the belt pockets and brought out a fistful of twenty-
dollar gold pieces. Twenty-five of these were counted out in a stack and
ungraciously shoved at the officer. "There!" he growled. "Let's see how
long you hang on to 'em!"

Alison's flexible fingers again shuffled the deck, and with more self-
possession now, she again distributed the cards. This time Crill
announced openers, and after discarding and filling his hand, he sat back
with an expression of smug contentment. "Three bullets!" he declared,
and his huge hand started across the table towards the pile of gold he had
just lost.

"One moment," interrupted the corporal pleasantly, as he exhibited his

hand. "The queens are standing by me for some reason. There are three
of them again, and a pair of deuces to back them up."

Crill's pink complexion turned a mottled red, and he snorted angrily

through his nostrils; but there was no gainsaying the evidence of defeat.
In ominous silence he reached into his belt and counted up another
glinting pile of double eagles. "Go to it!" he said morosely.

For six hands running Dexter won, and the chamois belt was
beginning to take on a limp and depleted appearance when his luck
finally turned against him. He lost three pots, gained one, forfeited four
more, and at length was reduced to his original stake.

"Let 'em go!" said the outlaw in unlovely gloating as he leaned his
broad elbows over the heap of gold he had raked back to his side of the
table.

Alison glanced sidewise at the corporal, and he thought he saw a tinge

of anxiety in her glowing eyes. "If you please," he invited serenely.

She riffled the pack, and slowly and deliberately passed out the cards.
Then she straightened on her stool and waited without breathing while
the two players consulted fortune's sending.

"Jacks up," asserted the officer after the draw, as he spread his cards
fan-shape under the flickering lantern rays.

"Beats tens and sixes," admitted Crill, gulping in his fleshy throat.
 Dexter took the next pot and the next, was beaten twice, and then
started on a winning streak that eventually stripped the outlaw of his last
gold piece. But when the yellow treasury notes were forced out on the
table, the break came, and the corporal's three thousand of winnings
dribbled gradually away until he had nothing left to stake but his pledged
word to free his prisoner if the next turn of the game fell against him.

But the hazard of the last chance switched in his favor. He piled up his
winnings to formidable proportions once more, again dropped back to
nothing but a promise, and again started accumulating gold pieces. So
the game went on through the hushed hours of the night, see-sawing first
one direction and then the other, with neither player gaining a final
advantage, until along towards the approach of daylight, when the luck
of the game swung definitely to Dexter's side of the table, and thereafter
remained with him.

The first glimmering of dawn found the three strangely assembled

companions still seated in a tense circle under a dim, sputtering lantern,
watching the fall of cards on the greasy table top. The corporal had
unbuttoned his tunic at the throat, and he had slumped down on his stool,
his legs stretched at full length, and his lean jaw resting on his hand. His
face looked gaunt and haggard in the yellow light, but his wide-open
eyes were keen and watchful, glinting with feverish brightness. All
desire to sleep had left him. On the table at his elbow was stacked three
thousand dollars in gold coin, and a bundle of crisp treasury notes
representing thirteen thousand more. Crill was down to his last bill.

The murderer's face was not pleasant to look upon. His thick,
bloodless lips had drawn apart, baring his teeth in a poisonous misshapen
smile. The flat nostrils were pinched in at the corners by muscular
constriction, forcing him to breathe through his mouth, and the skin
seemed to have stretched tighter across his bloated face, accentuating the
white, bony hollows of the temples. The eyes that looked out between
puckered rolls of flesh gleamed with ominous fixity, like hard black
beads, never winking, never losing the malevolence and hatred that dwelt
in their frozen depths.

Dexter, by accident, thrust out his leg too far and touched the
murderer's ankle, and he jerked back his foot with shuddering haste. "I'm
five hundred in that note," he said after a chilling silence. "If I win this
time, it's the end."

The outlaw's tongue licked across his sagging lips, but he had no
voice to reply.

"Any time you're ready, Miss Rayne," said the corporal.

A spot of bright color tinged the girl's cheeks, but otherwise she gave
no sign of excitement. She twisted up the sleeve of her frayed white
sweater, and then her slim hands manipulated the deck. Carefully and
precisely, she slipped off the cards, until five lay on the table before each
player. Then, laying the remaining pack beside her, she sat back to
watch.

Dexter scooped up his cards with his left hand, thumbed them apart,
and dropped one from among its companions. "Open," he said mildly.
"I'm filling with the top one."

The outlaw gingerly bent the corners of his cards, and leaned forward
with a stealthy movement to peer under his wrist. "Three!" he said at
length in a thickly muffled voice.

Alison dealt the cards, one to Dexter, three to Crill, and dropped the
deck with a gesture of finality. For a fleeting instant her glance shifted to
the corporal's face, and a ghost of a smile hovered about her lips.

Dexter's stern features relaxed slightly in response, and he flopped his

cards over on their backs. "I had 'em to start," he drawled—"nothing
except treys and deuces."

Without a word Crill peeled up the edges of the three grimy

pasteboards before him, and then, in an ungovernable fit of rage, he
swept his arm across the table and sent the deck flying. For a moment he
sat scowling in silence, and then he dropped his fat hands before him and
stumbled drunkenly to his feet.

"I suppose you think you've broken me!" he rasped out, with a
horrible effort to control his speech.
 Dexter likewise stood up. He stacked the yellow backs in a neat pile,
folded them lengthwise, and slipped the packet into the inside pocket of
his tunic. Then he began thrusting chinking handfuls of gold into the
receptacle of the chamois belt.

"You have the same chance of keeping that stuff as I have of turning
into a preacher," said Crill, his face distorted in a hideous sneer.

The corporal looked up from under one lifted eyebrow. "I beg your
pardon?" he inquired.

"Do you think Stark and his gang are going to let you get away with
that? It's mine, but it also belongs to them." The murderer showed his
teeth in a venomous grin. "Stark and his bunch are going to be here
before you can get away. Or if they should happen to miss you, they'll
hound you down through the woods until you croak on the trail. You
didn't think Stark was going to let anybody cop fifteen thousand out of
his fingers, did you?"

Dexter finished stowing away the gold pieces, and deliberately

fastened the pocket flaps. "I can't manage with one hand," he said
casually to Alison. "Will you help me buckle this belt around my waist?"

As the girl moved forward to give assistance, he turned abruptly to

Crill. "You had some such mental reservation when you sat down to
play?" he asked. "You knew if I won I wouldn't be allowed to keep my
winnings? In other words, you were counting on Stark from the
beginning?"

"I hope to tell you I was! Do I look crazy to you? I wasn't playing to
lose anything."

"I only wanted to know," said the corporal. "I had a notion that I
might return your money to you—in good season. I don't want it—
wouldn't touch it. Wouldn't soil my hands. I'd about made up my mind to
give it back to you, but that speech of yours has changed things." His
teeth fastened in his lip as he fixed the outlaw with scornful regard. "I'll
tell you what I've decided to do with it now—having won it fairly," he
ended. "I'm going down to the rapids and dump it overboard."
 Crill started as though he had received a blow in the face. "What?" he
gasped. "Fifteen thousand—your money—fifteen thousand dollars?
Why, you wouldn't—"

"To thwart Stark," returned the corporal serenely, "of course I would."

"But—" Crill drew a sobbing breath, and the madness of terror

suddenly flared into his eyes. "It's the money—Stark—I'd never get out
of these woods alive without the money to pay. He'd leave me to die, or
kill me."

"Of course," agreed Dexter, nodding his head.

Crill stared at him for a single, incredulous instant, and wilted like a
punctured balloon. "Oh, no!" he faltered, choking. He groped his way
back to the table and his hands reached out in fawning appeal. "Please,
Corporal Dexter! You don't—you don't know Stark—"

His voice broke in an agonized whisper, but before he could go on

with his pleading, another voice interrupted from the farther side of the
room.

"My ears are burning. I must have heard my own name." The words
cut sharp and incisive, like rifle shots, from the front of the cabin.

Dexter and Crill and Alison swung around as though they had been
jerked by a string, and they remained like three statues, staring towards
the open doorway.

Framed in the early morning twilight, suave and smiling, stood Owen
Stark.
 CHAPTER XXXV

HAZARD OF THE GAME

The newcomer had arrived without a sound. Evidently he had just

forded his way across the rapids. Water trickled in rivulets from his legs
and his clothing clung to his spare frame; but in spite of wetness he still
retained his well-groomed, debonnaire appearance. He smiled
appreciatively at the scene before him as he absently thumbed the
hammer of the rifle he held gripped in his hands.

"Is the party still on," he inquired, "or am I too late?"

He waited for a second or two, but as nobody had any reply to make,
he tilted up his weapon, and sauntered into the room. A trampling of
other feet sounded outside, and four other men drifted into view through
the morning mist and crowded across the threshold at their leader's heels.

From Stark's dripping figure, Dexter's glance wandered to the

silhouetted shapes beyond, and he recognized Norbert Croix and 'Phonse
Doucet, and Alison's brother, Archie. There was a fifth man in the group,
a thick-set individual with a scraggly red beard, whose acquaintance he
had not yet made. The clothing of the newcomers was water-soaked. It
was evident that they had just waded the rapids. While the game was on
in the cabin, the forking streams must have fallen low enough to permit a
crossing.

The intruders filed into the room, and the last one closed the door
behind him. Stark moved forward and laughed softly to himself.

"So you got out from under that tree," he remarked as he surveyed
Dexter. "I didn't think you had a chance on earth, but you fooled me that
trip. Anybody help you?"

Dexter faced the man with level eyes. "You left me my watch, and I
made a scoop of the lid and dug the ground from under my shoulder," he
said. "I was able to get loose before morning."

"And afterwards met this girl here—Miss Rayne?"

 "Met her in the woods, and arrested her," returned the corporal.

"Where'd you pick up Crill?" asked the other.

"Here on the island."

Stark grew silent for a space as he thoughtfully surveyed the group

before him. "Hum!" he mused at length: "it doesn't matter much how it
happened. We've returned to the status quo, as it were. I didn't do a very
good job of it the last time, but that's something easily corrected."

The smile faded from the man's face, and he stood with feet apart,
fingering the lock of his rifle, measuring the officer with merciless
glance. "It would have been better for you if you'd let well enough
alone," he said. "You wouldn't have it to go through with again."

His head turned slightly as he spoke, and he nodded politely to

Alison. "Will you please stand aside, Miss Rayne?" he invited.

"Do as he says," counseled Dexter as the girl hesitated. He looked at

her for a moment with a gentle glance, and drew a faint, quivering
breath. "Go over by the bunk, please."

"Now!" said Stark crisply, as the girl moved away on stumbling feet.

"You're lucky this time," he pursued. "I'm in a hurry, and I'll make it
quick." His lips pressed together in a hard, narrow line, and he cocked
the hammer of his rifle, and started slowly and deliberately to raise the
muzzle.

Dexter's heels came instinctively together, and he drew up his spare

body, straight and unmoving, like a soldier at salute. He faced his enemy
quietly, his fine-drawn features set in unchanging, stoic lines.

Nobody in the room spoke or stirred, and the hush of death fell about
them. Stark leveled his rifle and lined his sights upon the erect figure
standing under the light of the guttering lantern. Grimly he began to
count: "One—two—"

He got no farther. A streak of red flame lashed past the corporal's

shoulder, and the stuffy silence of the room was jarred by a sharp,
cracking explosion. The barrel of Stark's rifle wavered in his grasp, and a
crimson bullet welt showed suddenly across the tanned flesh above his
cheek bone.

Shocked, wondering, Dexter whirled to stare behind him, and he saw

Alison Rayne crouching by the bunk, with a smoking revolver clenched
in her fist.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE GRIM ACCOUNTING

The bullet only grazed Stark's face, and he recovered himself in a

flash, knowing that he was not hurt. With a muttered exclamation he
swung to confront the small, slim figure kneeling before him in the
shadow.

Dexter saw the man shift the aim of his rifle, realized that Alison's life
was forfeit. He gathered his muscles, and a long leap carried him across
the floor to her side. The weight of his body forced the girl to the floor as
he flung himself upon her; and he held her so, shielding her, while he
wrested the revolver from her fingers.

Even as his left hand closed over the butt of the weapon the pent-up
atmosphere of the room was jolted by the concussion of a heavy report, a
burst of flame flared in his face, and a bullet fanned his top hair and tore
splinters from the bunk post behind him. He saw Stark's eye staring at
him down the rifle barrel as he jerked down the lever to inject a second
cartridge.

Dexter was vouchsafed his instant of life, and he grasped its full
measure. Alison's revolver was held comfortably in his left hand. There
sounded a faint double snick as he drew back the hammer, and then he
threw up the muzzle, and without seeming to aim, he fired.
 Stark tossed up his head with the shot, and a queer look of
bewilderment passed over his face. For a moment he held rigid on his
feet, his eyes blankly gazing through the curling wreaths of smoke; then,
his hands opened, as though they found the weight of the rifle too much
for his strength; his legs bowed and caved beneath him and he doubled
over backwards and fell heavily upon the floor.

In a second Dexter was on his feet, the light of battle flaming in his
eyes. There was but one bullet left in the revolver, but the other men did
not know, and he felt a thrilling confidence in himself as he stepped
forward into the room.

There were five men left, but Crill was unarmed, and he held no fear
of Archie Preston. Doucet, Croix and the red-bearded stranger were
ranged in a compact group by the doorway. All three held rifles, but the
dramatic suddenness of events seemed for the moment to have paralyzed
their mental faculties. In the two seconds that might have enabled them
to recover their wits, the corporal was upon them.

"Drop your guns!" he commanded, furious and menacing. His

revolver somehow seemed to threaten all three at once. "Quick!" he
jerked out savagely—"or you get it too!"

There followed a short, sharp interval of uncertainty, in which the tide

of affairs quivered on a hair. But Dexter was still advancing, determined,
formidable.

The little, ferret-eyed Croix stood nearest to him, and Croix was the
first to weaken. His glance fell before the officer's eyes, his hand opened,
and his rifle clattered to the floor.

"You, 'Phonse!" thundered Dexter. Doucet hesitated, wavered, and

then he too dropped his weapon.

There remained the red-bearded man, and he was left alone facing the
officer. He, perhaps, was made of sterner stuff than his two companions,
but he could not help knowing that to fight back now spelled certain
death, and after a short conflict of glances, he too threw down his gun.

"Into the corner behind the fireplace—all of you!" Dexter ordered.

"Crill and Preston, you also!" He sidled over towards the front wall, and
herded the men away from the door. Slowly they backed before the
leveled revolver, and in two or three seconds he had driven them into the
corner, where they huddled together like sheep.

The corporal ducked his head to his shoulder with a quick, nervous
movement to wipe the moisture from his forehead. Then he looked up
again, and laughed with a queer catch in his voice. "You're to stay where
you are with your hands up," he announced. "I'll call you forward by
name, one at a time, and feel your clothes for side arms—"

He was interrupted by a sobbing sound from the direction of the bunk,

and as he half turned to look, he saw Alison lift herself to her feet and
stumble forward into the lantern light. "Archie!" she cried in a piteous
voice. "Forgive me—oh, Archie—I did it for—I couldn't help it!"

She swung around to face Dexter, her tearful gaze meeting his. "I
have given my brother's life for yours, David," she said in a stricken
whisper. Then she tottered across to the table, buried her head in her
arms, and broke down in convulsive sobbing.

Dexter took a step forward and stood over her for a moment with
awed and wondering eyes. His hand strayed towards her shoulder but he
checked the movement, shook his head, and turned slowly away. Once
more he faced the men in the corner of the room.

"You first, Doucet!" he commanded brusquely. "Come forward!" He

beckoned with the muzzle of his revolver, but before the man had a
chance to obey, the front door flung open with a crash and booted feet
clumped into the cabin entrance.

Dexter whirled with a gasp of dismay. He stared wildly—blinked his

eyes incredulously—and stared again. In the open doorway stood
Colonel Devreaux.

"Colonel!" cried Dexter.

The superintendent held motionless for a space, his keen, searching

glance taking in the strange scene before him. "We heard shots," he
remarked after a hushed interval. "What's happened here?"
 Relief, thankfulness, and also a great weariness, might have been read
in the relaxing lines of the corporal's face. He had held up for hours by
the strength of will, but at sight of his officer the buoying sense of
responsibility left him, and he found himself slipping. He seemed all at
once to lose inches of stature, to settle within himself, as a sword shoved
back in its scabbard. For once in his life he failed to answer his
commander's question.

"You—I believed you were dead," he said in a queer, far-off voice.

"Not yet." Devreaux peered at the corporal from under his grizzled
brows. "I wandered down the valley to find you, after you had left that
cave; but the sun thawed out your trail. Kept on going, and after days
managed to reach the lower pass. And I chanced to meet Sergeant
Brunswick and Constables Devlin and Jones coming in from the south to
hunt me."

"You—you're all right?" asked Dexter weakly.

"Able to travel, at any rate." The old man thrust out his barrel-like
chest, and the old dauntless smile for an instant crossed his deep-lined
face.

"But how did you find me?" persisted the corporal in his unsteady
voice.

"You left police blazes behind to mark your trail." The colonel
squinted curiously as he surveyed the man before him. "Forgotten?"

Dexter's glance traveled past the superintendent's stalky figure and he

saw three men in the familiar uniforms of the police lurking outside in
the misty dawn. And something within him recalled him to himself,
reminded him that he was still on duty.

With a sudden stiffening of his muscles he drew his body straight and,
thrusting his revolver into his pocket, he brought his hand up in salute.

"I have finished long patrol," he said, "and can make my completed
report, sir. I was forced to shoot and kill one Owen Stark, and I hold
myself at your disposal for the inquiries of the court. I have placed under
arrest, and now yield to police custody, the following prisoners:
Alphonse Doucet, Norbert Croix, Roy 'Pink' Crill, one man whose name
I have not yet learned, Archibald Preston, and—and Alison Rayne
Preston.

"And—with your permission, sir," he added in a failing voice, "I

should like to report off duty. I want to go to sleep."

CHAPTER XXXVII

NEWS FROM OUTSIDE

What happened after Dexter had delivered his prisoners into the
keeping of his opportunely arrived comrades, Dexter never afterwards
remembered. He may have suffered a sudden physical collapse, or
perhaps he simply fell asleep while standing at attention before his
officer. But when his eyes opened in reviving consciousness, he found
himself stretched comfortably in a warm bunk with a blanket tucked
about his chin. He might have been lying there for hours or for days.
There was no way of guessing.

Stirring drowsily, he lifted himself on his elbow to gaze about him. He

recognized the interior of the cabin where—ages ago, it seemed to him
now—he and the outlaw Crill had sat up through the night playing cards
together. The lantern was not burning, but the rays of a dying sun entered
the open windows, breaking the gloom with ruddy streaks of light.

As his heavy-lidded eyes gradually began to function again, he made

out the shapes of men, either seated or sprawled about grotesquely in the
shadows. In the far corner, sitting with legs crossed and shoulders
propped against the wall, he identified the giant figure of 'Phonse
Doucet. The wizened, hangdog face of Norbert Croix was recognizable
in the slanting glow of light beneath the west window. The red-bearded
man was lying on the floor close by, with his bushy head on his arm.
Next in line was Crill, his stout body slumped dejectedly against the logs
of the wall, his head bowed to his chest, a picture of cowering abjectness.
As Dexter surveyed the silent group before him, one of the men shifted
his position, and he heard the clink of a chain. He perceived then that the
four prisoners were shackled in pairs with handcuffs.

His glance ranged towards the farther end of the room, and he saw
Archie Preston. The boy was seated on a stool under the north window,
and he was bending over a newspaper spread on his knees reading by the
failing light. Unlike the others, he was not manacled.

With mind still hazy from sleep, the corporal lay quiet for a while,
gazing vacantly about the cabin. But presently it occurred to him that
Devreaux and the other policemen were missing. And suddenly he found
himself wondering what had happened to Alison. With an abrupt
movement he cast off his blanket and sat up in the bunk. Some one had
taken off his boots, he discovered; otherwise he was fully clad. The boots
were lying by the bunk, and he pulled them on and fastened the laces.
Then he stood up, buttoned his collar, and tried absently to smooth the
wrinkles out of his tunic. He was running his fingers through his tousled
hair, when he was aware that a shadow had darkened the open doorway.
Looking around, he saw Colonel Devreaux entering the cabin.

The superintendent caught sight of Dexter, and he knitted his brows

questioningly as he strode forward. "Waked up, have you?" he
demanded. "How d'you feel?"

"All right, I guess." Dexter stretched himself and yawned, and his
glance strayed towards the door. "Where's Alison?"

"Outside. She went for a walk with Brunswick and Devlin."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"More than thirty-six hours. You flopped while you were talking to
me, and we got you into the bunk." The colonel reached forward and his
stubby fingers touched his comrade's wrist. "You seem to have come
around. But for a while yesterday we thought you were in for a long spell
of it. We decided to camp here until you waked up naturally."

"I was done in, I guess. Hadn't slept much lately."

"Alison has told us all about you. You seem to have seen your job
through. You haven't done half badly, Corporal—" Devreaux checked