This Kingman ain't got no windows; its door is four-inch thick of oak; an' thar's loopholes for rifles in each side which shows the sports who builds that edifice in the stormy long-ago is lookin' for more trouble than comfort an' prepares themse'fs.

The two cow-punchers I finds in charge is scared to a standstill; they allows this Kingman's ha'nted.

They tells me how two parties who once abides thar--father an' son they be--gets downed by a hold-up whose aim is pillage, an' who comes cavortin' along an' butchers said fam'ly in their sleep.

The cow-punchers declar's they hears the spooks go scatterin' about the room as late as the night before I trails in.

I ca'ms 'em--not bein' subject to nerve stampedes myse'f, an' that same midnight when the sperits comes ha'ntin' about ag'in, I turns outen my blankets an' lays said spectres with the butt of my mule whip--the same when we strikes a light an' counts 'em up bein' a couple of kangaroo rats.