The Man-Killers

THERE was a hush, a boding silence, in Deadman Canyon, and skirling hawks, flying high againstched expectantly. A man was riding warily up the Maverick Basin trail, and ahead, like htmting animals, two men were skulking forth to cut him off at the creek. Above them, stuck tight as mud-wasp's nests to the shelves of sun-blackened crags, the white houses of cliflf-dwellers, now desolate and tenantless, gazed down upon the age-old tragedy; but the man rode on, his rifle beneath his knee, and a...