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.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 43100
   :PG.Title: "Tex"
   :PG.Released: 2013-07-06
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Clarence \E. Mulford
   :DC.Title: "Tex"
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1922
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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"TEX"
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   .. _`At sight of a rattler his gun leaped into crashing life (Page 314)`:

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      :alt: At sight of a rattler his gun leaped into crashing life (Page 314)

      At sight of a rattler his gun leaped into crashing life (Page `314`_)

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      "TEX"

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      By CLARENCE E. MULFORD

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      AUTHOR OF
      *"Bar 20," "Bar 20 Days," "Bar 20 Three," "Buck Peters,
      Ranchman," "The Coming of Cassidy," "Hopalong
      Cassidy," "Johnny Nelson," "The Man from
      Bar 20," etc.*

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      A. L. BURT COMPANY
      Publishers New York

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      Published by arrangement with A. C. McClurg & Co.
      Printed in U. S. A.  

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      Copyright
      A. C. McClurg & Co.
      1922

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      Published March, 1922

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      *Copyrighted in Great Britain*

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      *Printed in the United States of America*

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   CONTENTS

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   CHAPTER

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I  `The Trail Calls`_
II  `Refreshed Memories`_
III  `Tempted Anew`_
IV  `A Crowded Day`_
V  `A Trimmer Trimmed`_
VI  `Friendly Interest`_
VII  `Weights and Measures`_
VIII  `After Dark`_
IX  `A Pleasant Excursion`_
X  `Speed and Guile`_
XI  `Empty Honors`_
XII  `Closer Friendships`_
XIII  `Outcheating Cheaters`_
XIV  `Tact and Courage`_
XV  `A Good Samaritan`_
XVI  `Buffalo Creek in the Spotlight`_
XVII  `The Rush`_
XVIII  `"Here Lies the Road to Rome!"`_
XIX  `A Lecture Wasted`_
XX  `Plans Awry`_
XXI  `An Equal Guilt`_
XXII  `The False Trail and the True`_

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.. _`THE TRAIL CALLS`:

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   "TEX"

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CHAPTER I

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THE TRAIL CALLS

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Memory's curtain rises and shows a scene
softened by time and blurred by forgetfulness,
yet the details slowly emerge like the stars at twilight.
There appears a rain-washed, wind-swept range in
Montana, a great pasture level in the center, but rising on
its sides like a vast, shallow saucer, with here and there
a crack of more somber hue where a ravine, or sluggish
stream, lead toward the distant river.  Green underfoot,
deep blue overhead, with a lavender and purple rim under
a horizon made ragged and sharp by the not too distant
mountains and foothills.  An occasional deep blue gash
in the rim's darker tones marks where some pass or
canyon cuts through the encircling barriers.  A closer
inspection would reveal a half-dozen earthy hollows, the
rutting holes of the once numerous buffalo which paused
here on their periodic migrations.  In the foreground a
white ranchhouse and its flanking red buildings, framed
by the gray of corral walls, nestles on the southern slope
of a rise and basks in the sunlight.  From it three faint
trails grow more and more divergent, leading off to
Everywhere.  Scattered over the vast, green pastures are
the grazing units of a great herd, placid and content,
moving slowly and jerkily, like spilled water down a gentle,
dusty slope.  But in the total movement there is one
thread with definite directness, even though it constantly
turns from side to side in avoiding the grazing cattle.
This, as being different and indicating purpose, takes our
instant attention.

A rider slowly makes his way among the cattle, by
force of habit observing everything without being fully
conscious of it.  His chaps of soft leather, worn more
because of earlier associations than from any urgent need
on this northern range, have the look of long service and
the comfort coming from such.  His hat is a dark gray
sombrero, worn in a manner suggesting a cavalier of old.
Over an open vest are the careless folds of a blue
kerchief, and at his right hip rubs a holster with its waiting,
deadly tenant.  A nearer approach reveals him to be a
man in middle life, lean, scrupulously neat, clean shaven,
with lines of deep humor graven about his eyes and
mouth, softening a habitual expression which otherwise
would have been forbiddingly hard and cynical.

His roving glances reach the purple horizon and are
arrested by the cerulean blue of a pass, and he checks
his horse with a gesture hopelessly inadequate to express
the restlessness, the annoying uncertainty of his mood, a
mood fed unceasingly by an inborn yearning to wander,
regardless of any aim or other condition.  Here is a
prospect about him which he knows cannot be improved
upon; here are duties light enough practically to make
him master of his time, yet heavy enough to be purposeful;
his days are spent in the soothing solitudes of clean,
refreshing surroundings; his evenings with men who give
him perfect fellowship, wordless respect, and repressed
friendship, speaking when the mood urges, or silent in
that rare, all-explaining silence of strong men in perfect
accord.  His wants are few and automatically supplied:
yet for weeks the longing to leave it all daily had grown
stronger--to leave it for what?  Certainly for worse;
yet leave it he must.

He sat and pondered, retrospective, critical.  The
activities of his earlier days passed before him, with no
hypocritical hiding or blunting of motives.  They
revealed few redeeming features, for he carelessly had
followed the easy trails through the deceptive lowlands
of morality, and among men and women worse even than
himself in overt acts and shameless planning, yet better
because they did not have his intelligence or moral
standards.  But he slowly rose above them as a diver
rises above treacherous, lower currents, and the reason
was plain to those who knew him well.  First he had a
courage sparkling like a jewel, unhesitant, forthright,
precipitate; next he had a rare mixture of humor and
cynicism which better revealed to him things in their
right proportions and values; and last, but hardly least
by any means, an intelligence of high order, buttressed
by facts, clarified by systematic study, and edged by
training.  In his youth he had aimed at the practice of
medicine, but gave too much attention to more imaginative
targets and found, when too late, that he had hit
nothing.  His fondness for drinking, gambling at cards,
and other weedy sowings resulted from, rather than
caused, the poor aim.  Certain unforgivable episodes,
unforgivable because of their notoriety more than because
of the things themselves, brewed a paternal tempest, upon
which he had turned a scornful back, followed Horace
Greeley's famous advice, and sought the healing and the
sanctuary of the unasking West.

In his new surroundings he soon made a name for
himself, in both meanings, and quickly dominated those
whose companionship he either craved or needed.  An
inherent propensity for sleight of hand provided him an
easy living at cards; and his deftness and certainty with
a six-gun gave him a pleasing security.  However, all
things have an end.  There came a time when he nearly
had reached the lowest depths of moral submersion when
he met and fought a character as strong as his own, but
in few other ways resembling him; and from that time
on he swam on the surface.  It would be foolish to say
that the depths ceased to lure him, for they did, and at
times so powerfully that he scarcely could resist them.
For this he had to thank to no small degree one of the
bitterest experiences of his life: his disastrous marriage.
Giving blind love and unquestioning loyalty, he had lost
both by the unclean evidence unexpectedly presented to
his eyes.  In that crisis, after the first madness, his actions
had been worthy of a nature softer than his own and he
had gone, by devious ways, back to his West and started
anew with a burning cynicism.  But for the steadying
influence of his one-time enemy, and the danger and the
interest in the task which Hopalong Cassidy had set before
him, the domestic tragedy certainly would have sent him
plunging down to his former level or below it.

Time passed and finally brought him news of the
tragic death of his faithless wife, and he found that it
did not touch him.  He had felt neither pity, sorrow,
nor relief.  It is doubtful if he ever had given a thought
to the question of his freedom, for with his mental
attitude it meant nothing at all to him.  He had put among
his belongings the letter from his former employer, who
had known all about the affair and the names and
addresses of several of his western friends, telling him
that he was free; and hardly gave it a second thought.

Turning from his careless scrutiny of the distant pass
he rode on again and soon became aware of the sound
of hoofbeats rapidly nearing him.  As he looked up a
rider topped a rise, descried him, and waved a sombrero.
The newcomer dashed recklessly down the slope and
drew rein sharply at his side, a cheerful grin wreathing
his homely, honest face.  Pete was slow-witted, but his
sterling qualities masked this defect even in the eyes of
a man as sharp as his companion, who felt for him a
strong, warm friendship.

"Hello, Tex!" said the newcomer.  "What's eatin'
you?  You shore look glum."

Tex thought if it was plain enough for Pete Wilson
to notice it, it must be plain, indeed.  "Mental worms
an' moral cancer, Pete," replied the cynic, smiling in spite
of himself at the cogitation started in his friend by the
words.

"Whatever that means," replied Pete, cautiously.
"However, if it's what I reckon it is, there's just two
cures."  Pete was dogmatic by nature.  "An' that's likker,
or a new range."

"Somethin's th' matter with you today, Pete,"
rejoined Tex.  "Yo're as quick as a reflex."  He studied
a moment, and added: "An' yo're dead right, too."

"There ain't no reflection needed," retorted Pete; "an'
there ain't nothin' th' matter with me a-tall.  I'm tellin'
you common sense; but it's shore a devil of a choice.  If
it's likker, then you lose; if it's driftin' off som'ers, then
we lose.  Tell you what: Go down to Twin River an'
clean 'em out at stud, if you can find anybody that ain't
played you before," he suggested hopefully.  "Mebby
there's a stranger in town.  You'll shore feel a whole lot
better, then."  He grinned suddenly.  "You might find
a travelin' man: they're so cussed smart they don't think
anybody can learn 'em anythin'.  Go ahead--try it!"

Tex laughed.  "Where you goin'?" he abruptly demanded.
He could not afford to have any temptations
thrown in his way just then.

"Over Cyclone way, for Buck.  Comin' along?"

Tex slowly shook his head.  "I'm goin' th' other way.
Wonder why we haven't got word from Hoppy or Red
or Johnny?" he asked, and the question acted like alum
in muddy water, clearing away his doubts and waverings,
which swiftly precipitated and left the clear fluid of
decision.

"Huh!" snorted Pete in frank disgust.  "You wait
till any of them fellers write an' there'll be a white stone
over yore head with nice letterin' on it to tell lies forever.
You know 'em.  Comin' along with me?" he asked,
wheeling, and was answered by an almost imperceptible
shake of his friend's head.

"I'll shake hands with you, Pete," said Tex, holding
out his deft but sinewy hand.  "In case I don't see you
again," he explained in answer to his friend's look of
surprise.  "I'm mebby driftin' before you get back."

"Cuss it!" exploded Pete.  "I'm allus talkin' too
blamed much.  Now I've gone an' done it!"

"You've only hastened it a little," assured Tex,
gripping the outstretched hand spasmodically.  "Cheer up;
I don't aim to stay away forever!"  He spurred his
mount and shot away up the incline, Pete looking after
him and slowly shaking his head.

When the restless puncher stopped again it was at the
kitchen door of the white ranchhouse.  As he swung from
the saddle something stung him where his trousers were
tight and he stopped his own jump to grab the horse,
which had been stung in turn.  A snicker and a quick
rustle sounded under the summer kitchen and Tex took
the coiled rope from his saddle, deftly unfastening the
restraining knot.  The rustling sounded again, frantic
and sustained, followed by a half-defiant,
half-supplicating jeer.

"You can't do it, under here!" said Pickles, reloading
the bean-shooter from a bulging cheek.  "I can shoot
yore liver out before you can whirl it!"  Pickles was
quite a big boy now, but threatened never to grow
dignified; and besides, he had been badly spoiled by
everybody on the ranch.

"Whirling livers never appealed to me," rejoined Tex,
putting the rope back.  "Never," he affirmed decidedly;
"but I'm goin' to whirl yourn some of these days, an'
you with it!"

"Those he loves, he annoys," said a low, sweet voice,
its timbre stimulating the puncher like a draught of wine.
His sombrero sweeping off as he turned, he bowed to the
French Rose, wife of the big-hearted half-owner of the
ranch.  If only he had chosen a woman like this one!

"I seem to remember him annoyin' Dave Owens, at
near half a mile, with Hoppy's Sharps," he slowly
replied.  "Nobody ever told me that he loved Dave a whole
lot."  At the momentary cloud the name brought to her
face he shook his head and growled to himself.  "I'm a
fool, ma'am, these days," he apologized; "but it strikes
me that you ought to smile at that name--it shore played
its unwilling part in giving you a good husband; an'
Buck a mighty fine wife.  Where is Buck?"

"Inside the house, walking rings around the table--he
seems so, so--" she shrugged her shoulders hopelessly
and stepped aside to let Tex enter.

"I don't know what he seems," muttered Tex as he
passed in; "but I know what he is--an' that's just a
plain, ornery fool."  He shook his head at such behavior
by any man who was loved by the French Rose.

Buck stopped his pacing and regarded him curiously,
motioning toward an easy chair.

"Standin's good enough for me, for I'm itchin' with
th' same disease that you imagine is stalkin' you," said
Tex, looking at his old friend with level, disapproving
gaze.  "It don't matter with me, but it's plain criminal
with you.  I'm free to go; yo're not.  An' I'm tellin' you
frank that if I had th' picket stake that's holdin' you, all
h--l couldn't tempt me.  Yo're a plain, d--d fool--an'
you know it!"

Buck leaned back against the edge of the table and
thoughtfully regarded his companion.  "It ain't so much
that, as it is Hoppy, an' Red, an' Johnny," he replied,
spreading out his hands in an eloquent gesture.  "They
could write, anyhow, couldn't they?" he demanded.

"Shore," affirmed Tex, grinning.  "How long ago was
it that you answered their last letters?"  He leaned back
and laughed outright at the guilty expression on his
friend's face.  "I thought so!  Strong on words, but
cussed poor on example."

"I reckon yo're right," muttered Buck.  "But that
south range shore calls me strong, Tex."

"'Whither thou goest, I go' was said by a woman,"
retorted Tex.  "'Yore people are my people; yore God,
my God.'  I'm sayin' it works both ways.  You ought to
go down on yore knees for what's come to you.  An' you
will, one of these days.  Think of Hoppy's loss--an'
you'll do it before mornin'.  But I didn't come in to
preach common sense to a lunatic--I come to get my
time, an' to say good-bye."

Buck nodded.  Vaguely disturbed by some unnamed,
intermittent fever, he had been quick to read the
symptoms of restlessness in another, especially in one who
had been as close to him as Tex had been.  He went over
to an old desk, slowly opened a drawer and took out a
roll of bills and a memorandum.

"Here," he said, holding both out.  "Far as I know
it's th' same as when you gave it to me.  Ought to be
seven hundred, even.  Count it, to make shore."  While
Tex took it and shoved it into his pocket uncounted and
crumpled the memorandum, Buck also was reaching into
a pocket, and counted off several bills from the roll it
gave up.  These he gravely handed to his companion,
smiling to hide the ache of losing another friend.

"I shore haven't earned it all," mused Tex, looking
down at the wages in his hand.  "I reckon I'm doin' this
ranch a favor by leavin', for there ain't no real job up
here no more for any man as expensive as I am.  You
got th' whole country eatin' out of yore hand, an' th' first
thing you know th' cows will catch th' habit an' brand an'
count 'emselves to save you th' trouble of doin' it."

"You'll be doin' us a bigger favor when you come
back, one of these days," grinned Buck.  "You shore did
yore share in trainin' it to eat out of my hand.  For a
while it looked like it would eat th' hand--an' it would
'a', too.  Aimin' to ride down?"

Tex's eyes twinkled.  "How'd you come to figger I'm
goin' down?"

Buck smiled.

"No, reckon not," said Tex.  "Ridin' as far's th'
railroad.  I'll leave my cayuse with Smith.  When one of th'
boys goes down that way he can get it.  I'll pay Smith
for a month's care."  Reading the unspoken question in
his friend's eyes, he carelessly answered it.  "Don't know
where I'm goin'.  Reckon I'll get down to th' SV before
I stop.  That'd be natural, with Red an' Hoppy stayin'
with Johnny."

"They might need you, too," suggested Buck,
hopefully.  If he couldn't be with his distant friends
himself, he at least wished as many of them to be together
as was possible.

"I'm copperin' that," grunted Tex.  His eyes shone
momentarily.  "Yo're forgettin' that our best three are
together.  Lord help any misguided fools that prod 'em
sharp.  Well, I'm dead shore to drift back ag'in some
day; but as you say, those south ranges shore do pull a
feller's heart."  He looked shrewdly at his friend and his
face beamed from a sudden thought.  "We're a pair of
fools," he laughed.  "You ain't got th' wander itch!  You
don't want to go jack-rabbitin' all over th' country, like
me!  All you want is that southwest country, with yore
wife an yore friends on th' same ranch; down in th'
cactus country, where th' winters ain't what they are up
here.  I'm afraid my brain's atrophied, not havin' been
used since Dave Owens rolled down from his ambush
with Hoppy's slugs in him for ballast."

Buck looked at him with eager, hopeful intentness and
his sigh was one of great relief and thankfulness.  He need
not be ashamed of that longing, now vague and nameless
no longer.  His head snapped back and he stood erect,
and his voice thrilled with pride.  Tex had put his finger
on the trouble, as Tex always did.  "I've been as blind
as a rattler in August!" he exclaimed.

"Not takin' th' time to qualify that blind-rattler-in-August
phrase, I admits yo're right," beamed Tex.  He
arose, shoved out his hand for the quick, tight grasp of
his friend and wheeled to leave, stopping short as he
found himself face to face with Rose Peters.  "A happy
omen!" he cried.  "Th' first thing I see at th' beginnin'
of my journey is a rose."

She smiled at both of them as she blocked the door,
and the quick catch in her voice did not escape Tex
Ewalt.

"I was but in the other room," she said, her face
alight.  "I could not but hear, for you both speak loud.
I am so glad, M'sieu Tex--that now I know why my
man is so--so restless.  Ruth, she said what I think,
always.  We are sorry that you mus' go--but we know
you will not forget your friends, and will come back again
some day."

Buck put his arm around his wife's shoulders and
smiled.  "An' if he brings th' other boys back with him,
we'll find room for 'em all, eh Rose?"  He looked at his
friend.  "We're shore goin' to miss you, Tex.  Good
luck.  We'll expect you when we see you."

Tex bowed to Rose and backed into the curious
Pickles, whom he lightly spanked as a fitting farewell;
and soon the noise of his departure drummed softer and
softer into the south.





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.. _`REFRESHED MEMORIES`:

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   CHAPTER II


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   REFRESHED MEMORIES

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The dusty, grimy, almost paintless accommodation
train, composed of engine, combination smoking-baggage
car, and one day coach, rumbled and rattled,
jerked and swayed over the uneven roadbed, the clicking
at the rail joints sensible both to tactual and auditory
nerves, and calling attention to the disrepair into which
the whole line had fallen.  In the smoking compartment
of the baggage car sat Tex Ewalt, sincerely wishing that
he had followed his first promptings and chosen the saddle
in preference to this swifter method of traveling.

All day he had suffered heat, dust, cinders, and smoke
after a night of the same.  It had been bad enough on the
main line, but after leaving the junction conditions had
grown steadily worse.  All day he had crossed a yellow
gray desolation, flat and unending, under a dirty blue sky
and a dust-filled air shimmering with heat waves.  He
had peered at a drab, distant horizon which seemed hardly
to change as it crept eastward past him, at all times barely
more than a thin circle about as interesting and colorful
as a bleached hoop from some old, weather-beaten barrel.
Wherever he had looked, it had been to see sun-burned
grass and clouds of imponderable dust, the latter sucked
up by the train and sent whirling into every crack and
crevice; occasional white spots darting rearward he knew
to be the grim, limy skulls of herbiverous animals;
arrow-like trails cut deep into the drought-cursed earth, and
not too frequently a double line of straggling, dispirited
willows, cottonwoods, and box elders, marked the course
of some prairie creek, whose characteristic, steep earth
banks, often undermined, now enclosed sun-dried mud,
curling like heated scales, with here and there pools of
noisome water hidden under scabs of scum.  Mile after
mile of this had dulled him, familiar as he had once been
with the sight, and he sat apathetic, dispirited and glum,
too miserable to accept the pressing invitation of a
traveling cardsharp to sit into a game of draw poker.  Gradually
the mild, long swells of the prairie had grown shorter,
sharper, and higher; gradually the soil had become
rockier and the creek beds deeper below the rims of their
banks.  The track wound more and more as it twisted and
turned among the hills, and for some hours he had
noticed a constant rising, which now became more and more
apparent as the top of the watershed drew nearer.

He dozed fitfully at times and once the sharper had
roused him by touching his shoulder to ask him again to
take cards in a game.  To this invitation Tex had opened
his eyes, looked up at the smiling poker devotee and made
a slight motion, dozing off again as the surprised gambler
moved away from one he now knew to be of the same
calling as himself.  Towns had followed each other at
increasingly long intervals, insensibly changing in their
aspect, and the horizon steadily had been narrowing.
Here and there along the dried beds of the creeks were
rude cabins and shacks, each not far from an abandoned
sluice and cradle.  Between the hills the pastures grew
smaller and smaller, their sides more precipitous, but as
they shrunk, the number of cattle on them seemed to
increase.  Rough buildings of wood or stone began to
replace the low sod dugouts of a few hours ago, and he
knew that he was rapidly nearing his destination.

Suddenly a ribbon-like scar on the horizon caught his
eye.  It ran obliquely from a northeastern point of his
vista southwesterly across the pastures, hills, and valleys,
like a lone spoke in some great wheel, of which the
horizon was both felloe and tire.  At this he sat up with a
show of interest.  Judging from its direction, and from
what he remembered of it at this section of its length, it
would cross the track some miles farther on.  He nodded
swiftly at this old-time friend of his cattle-driving
days--he had been a fool not to have remembered it and the
cow-town not far ahead, but the names of all the
mushroom towns he had been in during his career in the West
had not remained in his memory.  Years rolled backward
in a flash.  He could see the distant, plodding caravans
of homesteaders, or the long, disciplined trains of the
freighters, winding over the hills and across the flats,
their white canvas wagon covers flashing against the sky,
the old, dirty covers emphasizing the newness and whiteness
of their numerous patches.  But on this nearing trail,
winding into the southwest there had been a different
migration.  He almost could see the spread-out herd moving
deliberately forward, the idling riders, the point and
swing men, and the plodding, bumping chuck wagon with
its bumptious cook.  This trail, a few hundred yards
wide, beaten by countless hoofs, had deepened and
deepened as the wind carried away the dust, and if left to
itself would be discernible after the passing of many
years.

The name of the town ahead and on this old trail
brought a smile to his lips, a smile that was pleasantly
reminiscent; but with the name of the town came nearly
forgotten names of men, and the smile changed into one
that was not pleasant to look upon.  There was Williams,
Gus Williams, often referred to as "Muttonhead."  He
had been a bully, a sure-thing gambler, herd trimmer,
and cattle thief in a small way, but he had been only a
petty pilferer of hoofed property, for his streak of
caution was well developed.  Tex had not seen him, or heard
of him, for twenty years, never since he had shot a gun
out of Williams' hand and beat him up in a corner of his
own saloon.

The rapidly enlarging ribbon drew nearer and more
distinct, and soon it crossed the track and ran into the
south.  He remembered the wide, curving bend it took
here: there had been a stampede one rainy night when he
was off trick and rolled up in his blanket under the chuck
wagon.  They had reason to suspect that the cattle were
sent off in their mad flight through the dark by human
agency.  Two days had been spent in combing the rough
plain and in rounding up the scattered herd, and there
had been a sizable number lost.

A deeper tone leaped into the dull roar of the train and
told of a gully passing under the track.  It ran off at a
slight angle, the dried bed showing more numerous signs
of human labors and habitations, and when the train
came to a bumping, screeching stop at a ramshackle
one-room station he knew that he was at the end of his ride
and within three stations from the end of the line, which
here turned sharply toward the northwest, baffled by
the treacherous sands of the river, whose bank it
paralleled for sixty miles.  Had he gone on in the train he
would have come no closer to his objective and would
have to face a harder country for man and horse.  Gunsight,
where his three friends were located, lay about a
hundred miles southwest of the bend in the track; but
because of the sharp bend it lay farther from the station
beyond.  From where he now was, the riding would not
be unpleasant and the ford across the river was shallower,
the greater width of the stream offset by a more sluggish
current.  This ford was treacherous in high water and
not passable after sudden rises for a day or two, because
the force of the swollen current stirred up the unstable
sands of the bottom.  As a veteran of the old cattle trails
he knew what a disturbed river bottom often meant.

The wheezing exhaust and the complaining panting of
the all but discarded engine added dismal sounds to a
dismal view.  He stiffly descended the steps, a bulging
gunny sack over his shoulder and a rolled blanket and a
sheathed rifle fully utilized his other arm and hand.
Dropping his burdens to the ground he paused to look around
him.

It was just a frontier town, ugly, patched, sprawling,
barely existent, and an eyesore even to the uncritical; and
cursed further by Kansas politics which at this time were
not as stalwart as they once had been, reminding one of
the mediocre sons of famous fathers.  In place of the
old daring there now were trickery and subtle
meannesses; in place of hot hatreds were now smoldering
grudges; where once old-time politicians "shot it out" in
the middle of the street, there now were furtive crawlings
and treacherous shots from the dark.  Like all towns it
had a name--it will suffice if we know it as Windsor.
Being neither in the mining country nor on the cattle
range, and being in an out-of-the-way position even on
the merging strip between the two, it undoubtedly would
have died a natural death except for the fortuitous chance
which had led the branch-line railroad to reach its site.
The shifting cattle drives and a short-lived townsite
speculation had been the causes for the rails coming; then
the drives stopped at nearer terminals and the speculation
blew up--but the rails remained.  This once
flamboyantly heralded "artery of commerce" swiftly had
atrophied and now was hardly more than a capillary, and its
diurnal pulsation was just sufficient to keep the town
about one degree above coma.

Tex sneered openly, luxuriously, aggressively, and for
all the world to see.  He promised himself that he would
not remain here very long.  Before him lay the squalid
dirt street with its cans and rubbish, the bloated body of a
dog near the platform, a dead cat farther along.  There
were several two-story frame buildings, evidently built
while the townsite game was on.  The rest were
one-story shacks, and he remembered most of them.

He picked up his belongings and sauntered into the
station to wait until the agent had finished his business
with the train crew, and that did not take long.

The agent stepped into the dusty, dirty room, coughed,
nodded, and passed into his partitioned office.  In a
moment he was out again, looked closely at the puncher and
decided to risk a smile and a word: "Is there anything
I can do for you?" he hazarded.

Tex put his sombrero beside him on the bench and
wiped his forehead with a sleeve.  He saw that his
companion was slight, not too healthy, and appeared to be
friendly and intelligent; but in his eyes lay the shadow of
fear.

"Mebby you can tell me th' best place to eat an' sleep;
an' th' best place to buy a horse," he replied.

"Williams' hotel is the best in town, and I'd ask him
about the horse.  You might do better if you didn't say
I recommended him to you."

"Not if you don't want me to," responded Tex, smiling
sardonically for some inexplicable reason.  "Reckon
he'd eat you because yo're sendin' him trade?  Don't
worry; I won't say you told me."

"So far as I am concerned it don't matter.  It's you
I'm thinking about."

Tex stretched, crossed his legs, and smiled.  "In that
case I'll use my own judgment," he replied.  "Been
workin' for th' railroad very long?"

"Little too long, I'm afraid," answered the agent,
coughing again, "but I've been out here only two
months."  He hesitated, looked a little self-conscious,
and continued.  "It's my lungs, you know.  I got a transfer
for my health.  If I can stick it out here I have hopes
of slowly improving, and perhaps of getting entirely well."

"If you can stick it out?  Meanin' yo're findin' it too
monotonous an' lonely?" queried Tex.

The agent laughed shortly, the look of fear again
coming into his eyes.  "Anything but the first; and so far as
being lonely is concerned, I find that my sister is company
enough."

Tex cogitated and recrossed his legs.  "From what I
have already seen of this town I'd gamble she is; but a
man's allus a little better off if he can herd with his own
sex once in a while.  So it ain't monotonous?  Have
many trains a day?" he asked, knowing from his perusal
of the time-table that there were but two.

"One in and one out.  You passed the other on the
siding at Willow, if you've come from beyond there."

"Reckon I remember it.  Much business here to keep
you busy?"

"Not enough to tire even a--lunger!"  He said the
word bitterly and defiantly.

"That's a word I never liked," said Tex.  "It's too
cussed brutal.  Some people derive a great deal of
satisfaction in calling a spade a spade, and that is quite proper
so far as spades are concerned; but why go further?  A
man can't allus help a thing like tuberculosis--especially
if he's makin' a livin' for two.  Yo're not very high up
here, but I reckon th' air's right.  It's th' winter that's
goin' to count ag'in' you.  You got to watch that.  You
might do better across th' west boundary.  Any doctor
in town?"

"There's a man who calls himself a doctor.  His
favorite prescription is whiskey."

"Yeah?  For his patients?"

"For his patients and himself, too."

"Huh," grunted the puncher.  He cleared his throat.
"I once read about yore trouble--in a dictionary," he
explained, grinning.  "It said milk an' aigs, among other
things; open air, both capitalized, day an' night; plenty
of sleep, no worryin', an' no excitement.  Have many
heavy boxes to rustle?"

"No," answered the agent, looking curiously at his
companion.  "I had plenty of milk and eggs, but the
milk is getting scarce and the eggs are falling off.  I--"
he stopped abruptly, shrugging his shoulders.  "D--n
it, man!  It isn't so much for myself!"

"No," said Tex, slowly arising.  "A man usually feels
that way about it.  I'm goin' up to th' hotel.  May drop
around to see you tomorrow if I'm in town."

"I'll be mighty glad to see you; but there's no use for
you to make enemies," replied the agent, leading the way
outside.  He stopped and took hold of a trunk, to roll it
into the building.

"Han's off," said Tex, smiling and pushing him aside.
"You forgot what th' dictionary said.  Of course this
wouldn't kill you, but I'm stiff from ridin' in yore palatial
trains, mile after weary mile."  Rolling the trunk through
the door and against the wall, he picked up his belongings,
gravely saluted and went on his way whistling cheerily.

The agent looked after him wistfully, shook his head
and retired into his coop.

Tex rambled down the street and entered Williams'
hotel, held a brief conversation with the clerk, took up
his key, and followed instructions.  The second door on
the right-hand side, upstairs, let him into a small room
which contained a chair, bed, and washstand.  There was
a rag rug before the bed, and this touch of high life and
affluence received from him a grave and dignified bow.
"Charmed, I'm sure," he said, and went over to the
window to view the roofs of the shacks below it.  He sniffed
and decided that somewhere near there was a stable.
Putting his belongings in a corner, he took out his shaving
kit and went to work with it, after which he walked
downstairs, bought a drink and treated its dispenser to a
cigar, which he knew later would be replaced and the
money taken instead.

"Hot," said Tex as though he had made a discovery.
"An' close," he added in an effort not to overlook anything.

"Very," replied the bartender.  This made the twenty-third
time he had said that word in reply to this undoubted
statement of fact since morning.  He did not
know that his companion had used it because it was
colorless and would stamp him, sub-consciously, as being no
different from the common human herd in town.  "Hottest
summer since last year," said the bartender, also for
the twenty-third time.  He grinned expectantly.

Tex turned the remark over in his mind and laughed
suddenly, explosively.  "That's a good un!  Cussed if
it didn't nearly get past me!  'Hottest summer since last
year!'  Ha-ha-ha!  Cuss it, it is good!"  He was on the
proper track to make a friend of the second man he had
met.  "Have another cigar," he urged.  Good-will and
admiration shone on his face.  "Gosh!  Have to spring
that un on th' boys!  Ha-ha-ha!"

"Better spring it before fall--it might not last through
th' winter, though some'r tougher'n others," rejoined the
bartender, his grin threatening to inconvenience his ears.

Tex choked and coughed up some of the liquor, the
tears starting from his eyes.  He had meant it for an
imitation choke, but misjudged.  Coughing and laughing
at once he hung onto the bar by his elbows and writhed
from side to side.  "Gosh!  You oughter--warn a
fel--ler!" he reproved.  "How'd'y think of 'em like
that?"

"Come easy, somehow," chuckled the pleased dispenser
of liquor.  "Stayin' in town long?" he asked.

"Cussed if I know," frankly answered Tex.  He became
candid and confidential.  "Expectin' a letter, an' I
can't leave till it comes.  Where's th' post office?  Yeah?
Guess I can find it, then.  Reckon I'll drift along an' see
if there's anythin' come in for me.  See you tonight."

Crossing the street he sauntered along it until he came
to the building which sheltered the post office, and he
stopped, regarded the sign over its door with open
approval, and then gravely salaamed.

"'Williams's Mecca,'" he read.  "Sign painters are
usually generous with their esses.  Wonder why?  Must
be a secret sign of th' guild.  Why are monument works
usually called 'monumental'?  Huh: Wonder if it is th'
same Williams?  If it is, where did he ever hear of
'Mecca'?"  It was a refreshing change from the names
so common to stores in towns of this kind and size.  "An'
cussed if it ain't appropriate, too!" he muttered.  "In a
place like this what could more deserve that name than
the general store and post office, unless it be the saloons,
hotels, and gambling houses?"  He started for the door,
eager to see whom he would meet.

A burly, dark-visaged individual looked up at his entry.
He would have been amazed had he known that a score
of years had slipped from him and that he was a callow,
furtive-eyed man in his early twenties, cringing in a
corner with his present visitor standing contemptuously over
him and daring him to get up again.

Tex's face remained unchanged, except for a foolish
smile which crept over it as he gave greeting.  "Though
I ain't goin' to pray, I shore am turnin' my face to th'
birthplace of th' Prophet," he said.  "Yeah, I'm even
enterin' its sacred portals."  He watched closely for any
signs of recognition in the other, but failed to detect any;
and he was not surprised.

The heavy face stared at him and a tentative smile tried
to change it.  The attempt was abortive and the
expression shifted to one of alert suspicion, shaded by one of
pugnacity.  He was not accustomed to levity at his
expense.  "What you talkin' about?" he slowly asked.

"Why, th' faith of all true believers: *There is but
one God, and Mohammed is his Prophet*.  May th' blessin's
of Allah be on thee.  Incidentally I'm askin' if there's
a letter for th' pilgrim, Tex Jones?"  He cast a careless
glance at a cold-eyed individual who lounged in the
shadow of a corner, and instantly classified him.  Besides
the low-slung holster, the man had the face of a cool, paid
killer.  Tex's interest in him was not to be correctly
judged by the careless glance he gave him.

"Then why in h--l didn't you say so in th' first place,
'stead of wastin' my valuable time?" growled the
proprietor, reluctantly shuffling toward the mail rack in a
corner.  He wet his thumb generously, not caring about
the color given to it by the tobacco in his mouth, and
clumsily ran through the modest packet of mail.  Shaking
his head he turned.  "There ain't nothin'," he grunted.

"It is Allah's will," muttered Tex in pious resignation.
He would have fallen over had there been anything for
him.

"Look here, stranger," ominously remarked the proprietor,
"if yo're aimin' to be smart at my expense, look
out it don't become yourn.  Just what's th' meanin' of all
these fool remarks?"

"Why, yore emporium is named 'Mecca,' ain't it?"
asked Tex innocently, but realizing that he somehow had
got on the wrong trail.

"What's that got to do with it?" demanded Williams,
who could talk as mean as he cared to while the quiet,
cold man sat in the corner.

"Everythin'.  Ain't you th' proprietor, like th' barkeep
of th' hotel said?  Ain't you Mr. Williams?"

"I am."

Tex scratched his head, frankly puzzled.  "Well," he
said, "Mohammed came out of Mecca to startle th'
world, an'----"

"He didn't do nothin' of th' kind!" interrupted the
proprietor.  "Mecca was out of Prophet, by Mohammed;
an' a cussed good hoss she was, too.  Though she didn't
startle no world, she was my filly, an' plenty good enough
for this part of th' country.  Of course, mebby back from
where you came from, mebby she wouldn't have amounted
to much," he sneered.  "Now, if you got any more smart-Aleck
remarks to make, you'll be wise if you save 'em till
you get outside."

Tex burst out laughing.  "It's all my mistake,
Mr. Williams.  I thought you named yore store after a poem
I read once, that's all.  No offense on my part, sir.  Are
you th' Mr. Williams that keeps th' ho-tel?"

"I am: what about it?"

"I'm puttin' up there," answered Tex.  "If a letter
comes for me, would you mind puttin' it in yore pocket
an' bringin' it over when you go there?  It'll save me from
botherin' you every day.  Yore friend at th' station said
I'd find you right obligin'.  An' he knows a good ho-tel
when he sees it.  He sent me there."

"That scut!" bellowed Williams, his face growing red.
"You'll come after yore own mail, my man; an' you'll do
it polite.  There ain't no mail here for you.  Good day!"

"I'm patient an' I can wait.  I didn't hardly expect to
get any letter so quick, anyhow.  After th' recent
experience of reasonin' right from th' wrong premises,
however, I'll not be a heap surprised if I get a letter on
tomorrow's train.  Thank you kindly, sir.  I bid you good
day."

"An' mind you don't call that cussed agent no friend
of mine, th' job stealer!"

"Whatever you say; but, don't forget to bring over
that letter when it comes," sweetly replied Tex, and he
carefully slammed the door as he went out.  Going down
the street he grinned expansively and snapped his fingers
because of a strange elation.

"Th' old thief!" he muttered.  "Heavier, more ill
tempered, and downright autocratic--an' how he has
prospered!  Regular, solid citizen, the bulwark of the
commonwealth.  An' cussed if he ain't got himself a
bodyguard; a regular, no-mistake gunman with as mean an
eye as any I ever saw.  Of course, his brains have
improved with the years, for they couldn't go the other way
and keep him out of an asylum.  'Muttonhead' Williams!
All right: once a sheep, always a sheep.  I'm going to
enjoy my stay in Windsor.  Good Lord!" he exclaimed
as a sudden fancy hit him.  "Wouldn't it be funny if the
old fool has been working hard and saving hard all these
years for his old enemy, Tex Ewalt?  He always was
crazy to play poker, and I got a notion to make it come
true.  Gosh, if a man ever was tempted, I'm tempted
now!  Muttonhead Williams, allus stuck on his poker
playing.  Get behind me, Satan!"





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.. _`TEMPTED ANEW`:

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   CHAPTER III


.. class:: center medium bold

   TEMPTED ANEW

.. vspace:: 2

A hand bell, ringing thin and clamorous somewhere
below caused Tex to gather up the cards with
which for two hours he had been assiduously practicing
shuffling, cutting, and dealing.  Putting them away he
washed his face and hands in the tin basin, combed his
hair without slicking it with water, and went down to
supper.

He paused momentarily in the doorway to size up the
dining-room.  The long table was crowded by all sorts
and conditions of men.  Miners down on their luck and
near the end of their resources because of the long
drought which had dried up the streams and put an end
to placer mining operations, rubbed elbows with more
fortunate men of their own calling, who had longer
purses.  Two cowpunchers from a distant ranch sat next
to two cavalrymen on a prized leave from the iron
discipline of a remote frontier post, both types dangerous
because free from the restraint which had held them down
for so long a time.  A local tin-horn gambler and the
traveling card-sharp were elbow to elbow, and several
other men, evidently belonging to the town, nearly filled
both sides of the table.

At the head sat Gus Williams, most influential citizen
and boss of the town, and he made no attempt to hide his
importance.  Next to him on the left was a lean,
hard-looking, shifty-eyed man who seemed to shine in reflected
light, and who showed a deference to the big man which
he evidently expected to receive, in turn, from the others.
If it was true that there was only one boss, it was also
true that he had only one nephew.  To the right of the
boss was the cold-eyed person whose seat in the general
store was well back in the corner.  No one moved or
spoke except under his critical observance.  His cocksure
confidence irritated Tex, who was strongly tempted to
try the effect of a hot potato against a cold eye.  He
thought of his friend Johnny Nelson and grinned at how
that young man's temper would steam up under such an
insolent stare.  Moving forward under the gunman's
close scrutiny Tex dropped into the only vacant chair, one
near the nephew, and fell to eating, his vocal chords idle,
but his optic and auditory apparatus making up for it.
The conversation, jerky and broken at first, grew more
coherent and increased as the appetites of the hungry
men yielded to the bolted food.  The protracted drought
was referred to in grunts, growls, monosyllables,
sentences, and profane speeches.  It was discussed,
rediscussed, and popped up at odd moments for new discussion.

"Never saw it so bad since th' railroad came," said a
miner.

"Never saw it so bad since th' first trail herd ended
here," affirmed the nephew.

"*I* never saw it so dry, for so long a spell, since th'
first trail herd *passed* here," said the uncle, his remark
the strongest by coming last; but he was not to enjoy
that advantage for long.

"Hum!" said a cattleman, apologetically clearing his
throat.  "I never saw it as dry as it is now since I located
out here."

The miner frowned, the nephew scowled, and the uncle
snorted.  The last named looked around belligerently and
smote the table with his fist.  "I remember, howsomever,
that I did see it near as dry, that year I strayed from th'
Santa Fe Trail, huntin' buffalers for th' caravan.  We
passed right through this section an' circled back.  I come
to remember it because when we crossed th' Walnut I
jumped right over it, dry-shod.  Them was th' days when
men was men, or soon wasn't nothin' a-tall."

"I reckon they wasn't th' kind that would play off sick
so they could get another man's job away from him,
anyhow," growled the nephew, introducing his pet grievance.
"I run that station a cussed sight better than it's bein' run
now; an' anybody's likely to make mistakes once in a
while."

"A few dollars, one way or another, ain't bustin' no
railroad," asserted the uncle.  "It was only th' excuse
they was a-waitin' for."

"Nobody can tell me no good about no railroad," said
the freighter, his fond memory resurrecting a certain
lucrative wagon haul which had vanished with the advent
of the first train over the line.

"Hosses are good enough for me," said Tex, looking
around.  "Which remark reminds me that a rider afoot
is a helpless hombre.  Bein' a rider, without no cayuse,
I'm a little anxious to get me a good one.  Anybody know
where I can do it reasonable?"

All eyes turned to the head of the table, where Williams
was washing down his last mouthful of food with a gulp
of hot, watery coffee.  He cleared his throat and peered
closely, but pleasantly, at the stranger.  "Why, it's
Mr. Jones," he said.  "I reckon I have such a hoss, Mr. Jones.
Mebby it ain't any too well broken, but that hadn't
oughter bother a rider."

Tex grinned.  "If that's all that's th' matter with it I
reckon it'll suit me; but I can tell better after I ride it,
an' learn th' price."

"Want it tonight?" frowned Williams.

"No; I ain't in no hurry.  Tomorrow'll be plenty of
time, when you ain't got nothin' else to do but show it.
Speakin' of railroads like we was, I reckon they ain't done
nothin' very much for this town.  While I'm new to these
parts, I'm betting Windsor was a whole lot better when
th' drive trail was alive an' kickin'."

Williams nodded emphatically.  "I've seen these plains
an' valleys thick with cattle," he said, regretfully.  "There
was a time when I could see th' dust clouds rollin' up
from th' south an' away in th' north, both at once, day
after day.  This town was a-hummin' every day an' night.
Money come easy an' went th' same way.  Men dropped
in here, lookin' like tramps, almost, who could write good
checks for thousands of dollars.  Th' buyers bought whole
herds on th' seller's say-so, without even seein' a hoof, an'
sold 'em ag'in th' same way.  Money flowed like water,
an' fair-sized fortunes was won an' lost at a single sittin'.
I've seen th' faro-bank busted three days hand-runnin'--but,
of course, that was very unusual.  Mostly it was th'
other way 'round.  All one summer an' fall it was like
that.  Then th' winter come, an' that was th' end of it so
fur's Windsor was concerned.  Th' Kiowa Arroyo branch
line was pushed further an' further southwest until th'
weather stopped it; but it went on ag'in as soon as spring
let it.  By th' time th' first herds crossed th' state line,
headin' for here, that line of rails was ready for 'em, an'
not another big herd went past this town.  Of course,
there was big herds drivin' north, just th' same, bound
for th' Yellowstone region on government contract, an'
some was bein' sent out to stock ranges in th' West, but
they followed a new trail found by Chisholm, or old
McCullough.  I've heard lately that Mac is workin' for
Twitchell an' Carpenter.  But if you'd seen this town then
you shore wouldn't know it now.  D--n th' railroads,
says I!"

Tex frowned honestly at the thought of the passing of
this once great cattle trail, for the memories of those old
trails lay snug and warm in the hearts of the men who
have followed them in the saddle.  He looked up at
Williams, a congratulatory look on his face.  "Well, that
shore was hard; but not as hard, I reckon, as if you had
been a cattleman, an' follered it.  It sort of hurts an
old-time cowman to think of them trails."

"That's where yo're wrong," spoke up the nephew.
"He is a cattleman.  Th' GW brand is known all over th'
state, an' beyond.  It was knowed by every puncher that
followed that old trail."

"There wasn't no such brand in them days," corrected
Williams.  He did not think it necessary to say that the
GW mark was just starting then, far back in the hills and
well removed from the trail; that it grew much faster by
the addition of fully grown cattle than it did by natural
increase; or that a view of the original brands on the
full-grown cattle would have been a matter of great and
burning interest to almost every drive boss who followed a
herd along the trail.  Later on, when he threw his herd
up for a count, the drive boss was likely to have re-added
his tally sheet and asked heaven and earth what had
happened to him.  "Well, them days has gone; but when they
went this town come blamed near goin' with 'em.  It
shore ain't what it once was."

Tex thought that it was just as well, since the town
was mean enough and vicious enough as it was; he
remembered vividly its high-water period; but he nodded
his head.

"It ain't hardly fair to judge it after such a long dry
spell," he said.  "Th' whole country, south an' west of th'
Missouri is fair burnin' up.  Th' Big Muddy herself was
a-showin' all her bars."

"That's th' curse of this part of Kansas," said the
nephew.  "That an' job jumpers."

"Yes?" asked Tex.  "How's that?"

"Station agent a friend of yourn?"

It became evident to Tex that the uncle and the nephew
had been discussing him.  Gus Williams was the only man
to whom he had mentioned the agent.  He shook his head.
"Never saw him before I stepped off th' train today," he
answered, looking vexed about something.  "We up an'
had some words, an' I told him I reckoned he might find
healthier towns further west, across th' line.  I'm a mild
man, gents: but I allus speak my mind."

"An' you gave him some cussed good advice," replied
the nephew warmly.  "This ain't no place for any man
as plays off sick an' does low-down tricks to turn another
man out of a job.  If it wasn't for his sister I'd 'a'
buffaloed him *pronto*.  Which reminds me, stranger," he
warned with an ugly leer.  "She's a rip-snortin' fe-male--but
I shore saw her first.  I'm just tellin' you so you
won't get any notions that way.  I'm fencin' that range."

"Don't you worry, Hen," consoled a friend.  "Yo're
able to run herd on her, balky as she is, an' when th' time's
ripe you'll put yore brand on her.  So fur's th' job's
concerned, yore uncle'll get it back for you when he gets
ready to move.  We ought to ride that Saunders feller
out of town, *I* say!"

"There's plenty of time for that," said Williams, as
he turned to address another diner.  "John, show
Mr. Jones that gray when he gits around tomorrow.  Aimin'
to stay in town long, Mr. Jones?"

Tex shrugged his shoulders.  "Got to wait for a letter--don't
know what to do; but I shore could be in worse
places than this here hotel, so I ain't worryin' a lot.  Bein'
a stranger, though, I reckon time'll drag a little evenin's."

Various kinds of smiles replied to this, and Williams
laughed outright.  "I reckon you understand th'
innercent game of draw?" he chuckled.

Tex froze: "Sometimes I think I do," he said, and
laughed to hide his struggle against the pressure of the
old temptation.  He fairly burned to turn his poker craft
against this blowhard's invitation, to wipe from that
self-complacent face its look of omniscience.  "An' then,
sometimes I reckon I don't," he continued; "but I'm admittin'
she's plumb fascinatin'.  From th' pious expressions
around me I reckon mebby I've shocked somebody."

Williams led in the laughter that followed, his bull
voice roaring through the room.  "You'd better buy that
hoss before you assist in th' evenin's worship," he cried
in boisterous good humor, "for I'm sayin' a puncher ain't
nowhere near in th' prospector's class when it comes to
walkin'; though I reckon th' boys will play you for th'
hoss, at that, an' you'd be no better off in th' end.  My
remarks as how this town has slid back didn't have
nothin' to do with our poker playin', Mr. Jones.  If you
feel like settin' in ag'in' a Kansas cyclone, you can't say
I didn't warn you."

Tex wondered what the crowd would say if he should
lean over and pull a royal flush out of Williams' ear, or a
full-house from the nephew's nose.  They might be
surprised if they found out that the cold-eyed gunman at
Williams' elbow carried a handful of Colt cartridges in
his tight-shut mouth.  He had no rabbits to lift out of
hats, but that trick was threadbare from being
overworked, anyhow.  He waved both hands, a smart-Aleck
grin sweeping across his face.  "I've rode cayuses,
punched cows, an' played draw from Texas to Montanny,
an' near back ag'in.  So far I ain't throwed, rolled under,
or cleaned out; an' I'm allus willin' to be agreeable.  Where
you gents lead I'll foller, like a hungry calf after its
ma."  His voice had grown loud and boastful and he joined the
swiftly forming card group with a swagger as it settled
around the table in the barroom, his bovine conceit hiding
the silent struggle going on within him.

Tex of the old days was fighting Tex of the new.  The
smug complacency of the local boss stirred up the
desire to break him to his last cent, to make a fool of him
in the way others had been broken and made ridiculous;
but the new Tex won: As usual he would play
Hopalong's game--which was as his opponents played,
straight or crooked, as they showed the way.  He had no
real wish for large winnings, for if he made his expenses
as he went along he would be satisfied, and he could do
that from his knowledge of psychology, a knowledge
gained outside of classrooms.  He now had no reputation
to defend or maintain, for Tex Jones was not Tex Ewalt,
famed throughout the cow-country.  The new name meant
nothing.  But how pleasant it would be to repeat history
in this town, so far as Williams was concerned!

He always had claimed that he could learn a man's
real nature more quickly in a game of poker than in any
other way in the same length of time, and he did not
mean some one more prominent trait, but the man's
nature as a whole; and now he set himself to study his new
acquaintances against some future need.  The game itself
would not engross him to the exclusion of all else, for
while he was Tex Jones externally, it would be Tex Ewalt
who played the hands, the Tex Ewalt who as a youth
had discovered an uncanny ability in sleight of hand and
whose freshman and sophomore years had given so much
time to developing and perfecting the eye-baffling art
that every study had suffered heavily in consequence; the
Tex Ewalt who had found that his ability was peculiarly
adaptive to cards, and who had given all his attention to
that connection when once he had started to travel along
the line of least resistance.  So well had he succeeded
that seasoned gamblers from the Mexican line north to
Canada had been forced to admit his mastery.

Before the end of the second deal he had learned the
rest of the nephew's more prominent characteristics, but
had not bothered to retaliate for the cheating.  On the
third deal he was forced to out-cheat a miner to keep even
with the game.  Before the evening's play was over he
had renewed his knowledge of Gus Williams, and now
knew him as well as that loud-voiced individual knew
himself; and he had not incurred the enmity of the boss,
because while Tex had won from the others he had lost
to him.  While not yielding to the temptations rampant
in him, he had compromised and left Williams in a ripe
condition for a future skinning.  At the end of the play
only he and Williams had won.

As the others pushed back their chairs to leave the
table, Williams ignored them and looked at Tex.  "You
an' me seem to be th' best," he said loudly.  "So there
won't be no doubt about it, let's settle it between us."

Tex raised a belated hand too late to hide his yawn,
blinked sleepily, and squinted at the clock.  "I'm
surprised it's so late," he said.  "It takes a lot out of a man
to play ag'in' this crowd.  My head's fair achin'.  What
you say if we let it go till tomorrow night?  I been
travelin' for three days an' nights an' ain't slept much.
You'd take it away from me before I could wake up."

Williams laughed sarcastically.  "You shore been
crossin' a lot of sand since you left th' Big Muddy, but
I don't reckon none of it got inter yore system."  He
paused to let the words sink in, and for a reply, and none
being forthcoming he laughed nastily as he arose.  "Texas
is a sandy state, too.  Reckon you was named before
anybody knowed very much about you."

Tex paled, fought himself to a standstill and shrugged
his shoulders.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bud
Haines, the cold-eyed bodyguard, become suddenly more
alert.

"Windsor's got a h--l of a way of welcomin'
strangers," he said.  "You'll have a different kind of a
kick to make tomorrow night, for you'll be eatin' sand.
I play poker when I feel like it: just now I don't feel like
it.  I'll say good night."

"Ha-ha-ha!" shouted Williams.  "He don't feel like
it, boys!  Ha-ha-ha!"

Tex stopped, turned swiftly, pulled out a roll of bills
that was a credit to his country and slammed it on the
table, reaching for the scattered deck.  "Mebby you feel
like puttin' up seven hundred dollars ag'in' mine, one cut,
th' highest card, to take both piles?  Ha-ha-ha!" he
mimicked.  "Here's action if that's what yo're lookin' for!"

Williams' face turned a deep red and he cursed under
his breath.  "That's a baby game: I said poker!" he
retorted, making no effort to get nearer to the table.

"That's mebby why I picked it," snapped Tex, stuffing
the roll back into his pocked.  "You can wait till
tomorrow night for poker."  Turning his back on the wrathful
Williams and the open-mouthed audience, he yawned
again, muttered something to express his adieus, and
clomped heavily and slowly up the stairs, his body
shaking with repressed laughter; and when he fell asleep
a few minutes later there was a placid smile on his
clean-shaven face.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A CROWDED DAY`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER IV


.. class:: center medium bold

   A CROWDED DAY

.. vspace:: 2

After a late breakfast about noon Tex got the gunny
sack, threw it over his shoulder and went to the
Mecca, nodding to the proprietor in a spirit of good-will
and cheerfulness.  Bud Haines did not appear to be about.

"I come in to see about that cayuse," he said.
"Where'll I find it?"

"Go down to th' stable an' see John," growled
Williams.  "You'll find it next to Carney's saloon,
across th' street.  Got rested up yet?"  The question
was not pleasantly asked.

Tex threw the sack over the other shoulder, hunched
it to a more comfortable position, and grinned sheepishly.
"Purty near, I reckon; anyhow, I got over my grouch.
I was shore peevish last night; but th' railroad's to blame
for that.  They say they are necessary, an' great
blessin's; but I ain't so shore about it.  Outside of my
personal grudge ag'in' 'em, I'm sore because they've shore
played th' devil with th' range.  Cut it all up--an' there
ain't no more pickin' along th' old trails no more, like
there once was.  I don't reckon punchers has got any
reason to love 'em a whole lot."

Williams flashed him a keen look and slowly nodded.
"Yo're right: look at what they've done to this town.  We
ain't seen no real money since they came."

Tex shifted the sack again.  "Everybody had money
in them days," he growled.  "If a feller went busted
along th' trails he allus could pick up a few dollars, if he
had a good cayuse an' a little nerve.  Why, among them
hills--but that ain't concernin' us no more, I reckon."  He
shook his head sadly.  "What's gone is gone.  Reckon
I'll go look at that cayuse.  You ain't got no letter for
me yet, have you?"

"Le's see--Johnson?" puzzled the storekeeper,
scratching his unshaven chin.

"No; Jones," prompted Tex innocently, hiding his smile.

"Oh, shore!" said his companion, slowly shaking his
head.  "There ain't nothin' for you so far."

Tex did not think that remarkable not only because
there never would be anything for him, but also because
there had been no mail since he had asked the day before;
but he grunted pessimistically, shifted the sack again, and
turned to the door.  "See you later," he said, going out.

He easily found the stable, grinned at the bleached,
weather-beaten "Williams" painted over the door and
going into the smelly, cigar-box office, dumped the sack
against the wall and nodded to John Graves.  "Come
down to look at that cayuse Williams spoke about last
night," he said, drawing a sleeve across his wet forehead.

"Shore; come along with me," said Graves, arising
and passing out into the main part of the building, Tex
at his heels.  "Here he is, Mr. Jones--as fine a piece of
hossflesh as a man ever straddled.  Got brains, youth, an'
ginger.  Sound as a dollar.  Cost you eighty, even.  You'll
go far before you'll find a better bargain."

Tex looked at the teeth, passed a hypnotic hand down
each leg in turn as he talked to the gray in a soothing
voice.  Children, horses, and dogs liked him at first look.
He frankly admired the animal from a distance, but
sadly shook his head.

"Fine cayuse, an' a fair price," he admitted; "but
I'm dead set ag'in' grays.  Had two of 'em once, one
right after th' other--an' come near to dyin' on 'em both.
If I didn't get killed, they did, anyhow.  It's sort of set
me ag'in' grays.  Now, there's a roan that strikes me as
a hoss I'd consider ownin'.  Of course, he ain't as good
as th' gray, but he suits me better."  He walked over to
the magnificent animal, which was far and away superior
to the gray, and talked to it in a low, caressing voice as
he made a quick examination.  "Yes, this cayuse suits
me if th' price is right.  If we can agree on that I'll lead
him down th' street an' see how he steps out.  Ain't got
nothin' else to do, anyhow."

Graves frowned and slowly shook his head.  "Rather
not part with that one--an' he's a two-hundred-dollar
animal, anyhow.  It's a sort of pet of th' boss--he's rid
it since it was near old enough to walk.  That gray's th'
best I've got for sale, unless, mebby, it might be that
sorrel over there.  Now, there's a mighty good hoss, come
to think of it."

Tex glanced at the beautiful line of the roan's back
and thought of the massive weight of Williams, and of
the sway-back bay standing saddled in front of his store.
He shook his head.  "Two hundred's too high for me,
friend," he replied.  "As I said, I don't like grays, an'
that sorrel has shore got a mean eye.  It ain't spirit that's
showin', but just plumb treachery.  If you got off him out
on th' range he'd head for home an' leave you to hoof it
after him.  I got an even hundred for th' roan.  Say th'
word an' we trade."

Graves waved his arms and enumerated the roan's good
points as only a horse dealer can.  The discussion was
long and to no result.  Tex added twenty-five dollars to
the hundred he had offered and the whole thing was gone
over again, but to no avail.  He picked up the sack, slung
it onto his back, and turned to leave.

"I'm shore surprised at th' prices for cayuses in this
part of th' country," he said.  "Mebby I can make a
dicker with somebody else.  Of course, I'm admittin' that
th' roan ain't got a sand crack like th' sorrel, or a spavin
like th' gray--but that's too much money for a saddle
hoss for a puncher out of a job.  See you tonight, mebby."

Graves waved his arms again.  "I'm tellin' you that
you won't find no hoss in town like that roan--why, th'
color of that animal is worth half th' price.  Just look at
it!"

"All of which I admits," replied Tex; "but, you see,
I'm buyin' me a hoss to ride, not to put on th' parlor table
for to admire.  Comin' right down to cases, any hoss but
a gray, that's sound, an' not too old, is good enough for
any puncher.  You should 'a' seen some that I've rode,
an' been proud of!"

"Seein' that yo're a lover of good hossflesh, I'll take a
chance of Gus gettin' peeved, an' let you have th' roan
for one-ninety.  That's as low as I can drop.  Can't shave
off another dollar."

"It's too rich for Tex Jones," grumbled the puncher.
"See you tonight," and the sack bobbed toward the door
just as a sudden brawl sounded in the street.  Tex took
two quick steps and glanced.

A miner and a cowpuncher were rolling in the dust,
biting, hitting, gouging, and wrestling and, as Tex looked
he saw the puncher's gun slip out of its open-top sheath.
The fighting pair rolled away from it and someone in
the closely following crowd picked it up to save it for its
owner.  The puncher, pounds lighter than his brawny
antagonist, rapidly was getting the worst of the
rough-and-tumble in which the other's superior weight and
strength had full opportunity to make itself felt.
Suddenly the miner, thrown from his victim by a tremendous
effort, leaped to his feet, snarling like a beast, and knicked
at the puncher's head.  The heavy, hob-nailed boot
crashed sickeningly home and as the writhing man went
suddenly limp, the victor aimed another kick at his
unconscious enemy.  His foot swung back, but it never
reached its mark.  A forty-pound saddle in a sack shot
through the air with all of a strong man's strength behind
it and, catching the miner balanced on one foot, it knocked
him sprawling through ten feet of dust and débris.
Following the sack came Tex, his eyes blazing.

The miner groped in the dust, slowly sat up, moving
his head from side to side as he got his bearings.  At
once his eyes cleared and his hand streaked to the knife
in his belt as he half arose.  Tex leaped aside as the
heavy weapon cut through the air to sink into a near-by
wall, where it quivered.  The thrower was on his feet
now, his face working with rage, and he sprang forward,
both arms circling before him.  Tex swiftly gripped one
outstretched wrist, turned sharply as he pushed his
shoulder under the armpit and suddenly bent forward,
facing away from his antagonist.  The miner left the
ground on the surging heave of the puncher's shoulder,
shot up into the air, turned over once as Tex, not
wishing him to break his neck, pulled down hard on the
imprisoned arm, and landed feet first against the wall,
squarely under the knife.  Bouncing up with remarkable
vitality, the miner wrenched at the wicked weapon above
him and then cursed as the steel, leaving its point
embedded in the wood, flew out of his hand.

Tex shoved the smoking Colt back into his holster
and peered through the acrid, gray fog.  "If you don't
know when yo're licked, you better take my word for
it," he warned.  "Seein' as how yo're a rubber ball, I'll
make shore th' third time!"

A snarl replied and the miner leaped for him, the hairy
hands not so far extended this time.  Tex broke ground
with two swift steps and then, unexpectedly slipping to
one side and forward in two perfectly timed motions,
swung a rigid, bent arm as the charging miner went
blunderingly past.  The bony fist landed fair above the
belt buckle and it was nearly half an hour later before
the prospector knew where he was, and then he was too
sick to care much.

Tex turned and faced the crowd with insolent slowness.
His glance passed from face to face, finding some
friendliness, much surprise, and a few frank scowls.  He
stepped up to the man who had retrieved the puncher's
gun and, ignoring the crowd altogether, took the weapon
from the reluctant fingers which held it and went back
to the front of the stable, where Graves had succeeded
in bringing the prostrate puncher back to consciousness.
Tex ran his fingers over the wobbly man's head and face,
grunted, nodded, and smiled.

"Bad bruise, but nothin' is busted.  Why there ain't
I'm shore *I* don't know.  I figgered you was a goner.
Here, take yore gun, an' let us help you into th' stable."

Once on his feet the puncher pushed free from the
sustaining hands and staggered to a box just inside the
door, where he carefully seated himself, drew the Colt,
and rested it on his knees, his blurred, throbbing eyes
watching the street.

Tex grinned.  "You can put that up ag'in--he's had
all he can digest for a little while.  Punchin' for
Williams?"

"I'm ridin' for Curtis: C Bar.  Over northeast, a
couple of hours out.  I'm keepin' th' gun where it is: th'
miners run this town.  Where do you fit in?  One of th'
GW gang?"

"Nope; I'm all of th' Tex Jones outfit.  Stranger here,
but shore gettin' acquainted rapid.  Got any good cayuses
for sale out at yore place?  Our mutual friend, here,
wants th' Treasury for th' only good animal he's got.
Bein' a stranger is a handicap."

Graves leaned forward.  "That hoss is worth--"
he began in great earnestness.

"--not one red cent to me, now," interrupted Tex,
smiling.  "Come to think of it, I ain't goin' to buy no
hoss, a-tall.  I've changed my mind."

"We got th' usual run out on th' ranch," said the
injured man.  "You know 'em, I reckon.  Poor on looks,
mean as all h--l, with hearts crowded with sand.  I'll be
leavin' in half an hour if th' miners don't interfere--borry
a cayuse an' ride out with me."

"Nope," replied Tex.  "I ain't goin' to buy, a-tall, as
I just said."  He turned.  "Good luck to you, friend.
Barrin' th' soreness, an' yore looks yo're all right," and
he went out, picked up the bulging sack, and passed down
the street.  Leaving the sack with the bartender in the
hotel he went on to the station and smiled at the agent,
who was joking with a red-headed Irishman.

"Hello; here he is now," exclaimed the boss of the
depot.  "Friend, shake hands with Tim Murphy.  Tim,
this is Mr.--Mr.----"

"Jones," supplied Tex.  "Tex Jones, of Montanny,
Texas, an' New York."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Geography," grinned
Murphy.  "Th' lad here was a-tellin' me ye gave him a
friendly word an' some good advice.  From that I was
knowin' ye didn't belong around here.  I'll shake yer
hand if ye don't mind.  Th' sack wint like an arrow,
th' wrestlin' trick couldn't be bate, I never saw a nicer
shot, an' th' finish does ye proud.  Ye fair tickled me
when ye wint for th' soft spot.  'Tis a rare sight in street
fights, an' in th' ring, too, for that matter.  Welcome to
Windsor!"

Tex laughed heartily and gripped the hairy fist.  He
liked the feel of the great, calloused hand, and the look
on the smiling, tanned face, from which twinkled a pair
of blue eyes alight with humor, honesty, and courage.
"But did you ever see a man come back as quick as he
did?" he asked.

"'Twas surprisin' for a bully," admitted Murphy,
grudgingly.

"That's where yo're wrong: he's no bully," contradicted
Tex.  "He's a brute, all right, savage as th' devil,
an' foul in his fightin'--but he ain't any coward.  It
fair stuck out of his eyes."

"Trust me to miss anything like that," growled the
agent; "and trust Tim not to," he added.

"Hist, now!" warned Murphy, motioning with his
thumb held close to his vest.  "Here comes th' lass.  An'
what do ye be thinkin' av th' town now, Mr. Jones?"

"Just what you do," laughed Tex, turning slowly.

"An' how are ye this day, miss?" asked Murphy, his
hat in his hand and his red face beaming.

"Very well, indeed, Tim," replied the girl.  She
glanced at Tex as she turned to her brother, holding out
the lunch basket.  "Jerry, I couldn't get any decent
eggs--and they had no milk for me."  There was a
poorly hidden note of distress in her voice, and a faint
look of anxiety momentarily clouded her face.  Neither
was lost to the observant puncher.

Tex liked her instantly.  Her voice was full and sweet,
of resonant timbre--a voice one would not easily tire of.
Her figure was slender, and yet full and rounded,
promising a wiry strength and great vitality.  The sunbonnet
she wore hid most of the chestnut-brown hair, but set
off the face within it with a bewitching art.  Altogether
she made a very pretty picture.

"It doesn't matter, Jane," smiled her brother, quick
to sense her worry.  He pinched the full lips with
caressing playfulness.  "I'm getting stronger every day, and
food isn't as critical a subject as it once was.  The credit
is all yours--Jane, meet Mr. Jones.  I was speaking
about him last night."

Tex bowed gravely.  "How do you do?" he murmured.
"Conscientious care is more than half of the
battle.  The credit he gave you appears to be well
deserved."

Jane Saunders, accustomed to embarrassed self-consciousness
or stammering volubility, smiled faintly as
she acknowledged the introduction.  The man was as
impersonal and as sure of himself as any she ever had
met.  She looked him fairly in the eyes.

"How did you come to advise my brother to go farther
west?" she asked, but while her voice was casual, her
look challenged him.

"It was given upon certain conditions of the weather
this winter, Miss--I do not believe I caught the name."

"No fault of yours," she laughed.  "Jerry always
ignores it in his introductions.  It is Jane Saunders.  Then
it was only in the nature of a physician's advice?" she
persisted, her eyes searching his soul for the truth.

Tex nodded.  "My knowledge of his complaint is very
sketchy; but like all amateurs I paraded what little I had.
I thought that perhaps the winters out here might not be
as dry as they are farther west.  No doubt it was entirely
uncalled for.  We will hope so, anyway."

"Are you a physician, Mr. Jones?"

"No, indeed; although I went part way through the
course.  What little time I had left from more interesting
activities, I gave to study."

"Ye was speakin' about th' aigs an' milk, miss," said
Murphy, his face alight with eager anticipation.  He
chuckled.  "Ye needn't be askin' no more favors av
Williams' black heart.  I've a little somethin' to show ye all,
if ye'll step down th' track a bit.  An' Costigan is goin'
to get him a cow.  Th' missus said th' word, an' divvil
a bit Mike can wiggle out av it.  Ye'll have first call on
th' milk, so I hear.  Mr. Jones, if ye'll be kind enough
to escort Jerry, I'll lead th' march with th' lass."

"Oh, well," sighed Tex, gravely offering his arm to
the station agent, "I suppose it *is* yore party; but I'm
admittin' yo're not overlookin' Number One.  Lead on,
MacDuff."  He caught her quick glance at the abrupt
change in his language, and smiled to himself.  It never
paid to be too well understood by a woman.

"Th' Irish are noted for bein' judges av good whiskey,
fine hosses, an' fair wimmin," retorted Murphy.  "I'll
take no chances of any pearls bein' cast careless."

"I notice you put th' wimmin last," countered Tex.
"Grunt, Jerry!  Quick, man!  Before Miss Saunders
looks around!"

"He said pearly, Mr. Jones," said Jane, laughingly.
"I'm afraid he intended it all to be plural."

"It was wrongly written in th' first place," complained
Tex.  "Tim has an uncanny instinct; he only met me
about ten minutes ago."

"Ten is a-plenty, sometimes," chuckled Murphy.  "But
I'll own to havin' a previous sight av ye.  Wait now:
here we are."

They stopped in front of the toolhouse and watched
Murphy walk along one of the two ties spanning the
drainage ditch at the edge of the roadbed.  He unlocked
the doors and flung them wide open as a clamorous
cackling broke out in the building.  On one end of a
hand car was a crate of chickens and leaning against it
were several bundles of long stakes.  A pile of new
lumber could be seen in the back of the shed, while a fat
spool of wire rested near the stakes.

Murphy turned, his face red with delight at his surprise.
"There ye are, miss," he cried proudly.  "A round
dozen av them, with their lord an' master.  I couldn't let
that Mike Costigan go puttin' on his airs over his boss,
so now there'll be aigs for aignoggs that I'll have a claim
to.  For safe-keepin' we'll build th' coop in yore back
yard where it will be right handy for ye.  Ye can now
tell Williams to kape his aigs.  If he don't understand
yer soft language, I'll be tellin' him in a way he can't
mistook."

"You angel!" whispered Jane, tears in her eyes.  She
was not misled by his remarks about eggnoggs.  "Oh,
Tim--you shouldn't have done it!  Why didn't *I* think
of it?  And how is it that Mrs. Costigan suddenly needs
a cow?  If I've heard her aright, she has stalwart,
old-fashioned ideas, bless her, about nursing children.  And
I never knew she was partial to eggnoggs.  Jerry, what
shall we do to them?"

Jerry blew his nose with energy.  "For a cent I'd
lick Murphy right now, and Mike immediately afterward,"
he laughed, sizing up the huge bulk of bone, sinew,
and toil-hardened muscle of the section-boss.  "Tim,
you and your boys are the one redeeming feature of this
country.  And you redeem it fully.  How long have you
been plotting this?"

"G'wan with ye, th' pair av ye!" chuckled the section-boss,
his face flaming.  "If Casey hadn't stopped th'
train down by this shed yesterday we couldn't 'a'
surprised ye.  Ye never saw a consignment handled quicker
or more gintly."

"And I was wondering why he did it," confessed Jerry.
"The brakeman said he was trying his brakes.  Tim, you
should be ashamed of yourself!"

"An' I've been that, many a time," retorted Murphy.
He turned to Tex.  "I'll be leavin' it to ye, Mr. Jones,
if a man hasn't certain rights after bein' nursed for three
weeks by a brown-haired angel, an' knowin' that th' same
angel nursed Mrs. Costigan an' th' twins whin they was
all down with th' measles.  Patient an' unselfish, she
was, with never a cross word, day or night--an' always
with a smile on her pretty face, like th' sun on Lake
Killarney."

Tex looked gravely and judicially at Jane Saunders.
"You haven't a word to say, Miss Saunders.  The
verdict of the court is for the defendant.  Case dismissed,
without costs of either party against the other."  He
turned to the section-boss.  "When are we buildin' that
coop, Murphy?" he asked.

"Tomorrow, Tex," answered the Irishman.  "We'll
be after runnin' th' darlin's up there right away, an'
come back for th' lumber an' wire.  That'll give us an
early start.  Th' sidin' will let us ride 'em near halfway
an' save a lot of flounderin' in th' sand."

"We'd better come back for th' darlin's after th' coop
is ready for 'em," said Tex, grinning.  "If I know coyotes
as well as I reckon I do, th' harem will be a lot safer in
this here shed; an' I'm glad it's got a board floor, too.
Lend a hand here an' we'll change th' cargo on this meek
steed.  *Gently, brother, gently pray*.  Now for th'
lumber."  He burst into a chant: "*I once was a bloody pirate
bold, an' I sailed on th' Spanish Main, yo-ho!  Th'
treasure chests were full of gold, which gave us all a pain
you know.*"  He glanced at one of his hands and
grimaced.  "Blast th' splinters.  An' would you look at
that corn?  Blessed if th' man hasn't got enough to feed
another Custer expedition!  Murphy, you certainly do
grow on one!"

Murphy paused with a huge armful of lumber, and
looked suspicious.  "On one what?" he demanded.

"Prickly pear plant, I reckon, in lieu of anything else;
or on a mesquite tree, perhaps, for you shore do know
beans when th' pod's open.  *An' it stopped--short--never
to go again, when th' old--man--died,*" hummed
Tex.  "All aboard.  Clang-clang!  Clang-clang!  I can
still hear that bell in my sleep.  Yo're th' engineer,
Murphy; I'll act in an advisory capacity, at th' same
time pushing hard on my very own handle.  Ladies first!
Miss Saunders, if you please!  That's right, for you
might as well ride in state.  Up you go.  From your
elevated position you may scan the country roundabout
and give us warning of the approach of redskins.  *A
Book of Verses underneath the Bough, a Jug of Wine,
a Loaf of Bread*--and fried eggs--*Oh, Wilderness
were Paradise enow!*"

"I see no redskins, Advisory Capacity," called Jane,
who thoroughly was enjoying herself; "but hither rides
a horseman on a horse."

Tex looked up and saw a recklessly riding puncher
coming toward them.  He slyly exchanged grins with
Murphy and kept on pushing.

The rider, smiling as well as a swollen face and throbbing
temples would permit, slid to a stand, removed his
sombrero and bowed.

"My name's Tom Watkins," he said.  "I just come
down to tell you, friend, that I've learned what you done
for me, awhile back.  I'm----"

Tex interrupted him.  "You just came down in time,
Thomas, to drop yore useful rope over that bobbin' handle
an' head west at a plain, unornamental walk.  High-heeled
boots was never made for pushin' han' cars over ties an'
rocks.  An' I suspect Murphy of stealin' a ride every
time my head goes down."

"Then I'd be cheatin' myself," retorted Murphy,
looking upon the newcomer with strong favor.  "Th' car
would be after stoppin' every time I rode, like th' little
boat with th' big whistle."  He turned to the agent.
"Jerry, there's no tellin' how fast this car will be goin',
for I misdoubt that animal's intentions.  Suppose ye run
along an' throw th' switch for us.  Hadn't ye better get
down, miss?"

"Not for the world, Tim!"

The disfigured puncher grinned even wider, dropped
his rope over the handle with practiced art and wheeled
his horse.  "What'll I do when I git to th' end of th'
rails?" he asked, mischievous deviltry, unabashed by
what had befallen him, shining in his eyes, and there
was an eager curiosity revealed by his voice.

"What'll he do, Murphy?" demanded Tex.

"He'll stop, blast him!" emphatically answered the
section-boss.

"You'll stop, Thomas," said Tex.  "As Hamlet said:
'Go on, I'll follow thee!'"

"But he's not nearly a ghost yet," objected Jane.  Her
cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling from the fun she
was having.  Many days had passed since she had had
so good a time.  It was a treat to get away from the
ever-lasting "Yes, ma'am" and "No, ma'am" which
had been the formula for conversation with everyone to
whom she had talked except her brother and Murphy.

"No, ma'am," said the puncher.  "Not yet."

Jane shuddered and grimaced at Tex as the rider
turned away.  "That's all I've heard since I've been out
here," she softly called down to him.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, not daring to look up.
The procession wended onward to the edification of
sundry stray dogs, and Costigan's goats, tethered near
the toolshed, promptly went into consultation as to what
measures to pursue, apparently deciding upon a defensive
course of action if the worst came to pass.

The end of the rails reached, the engineer of the motive
power stopped, sized up the ground roundabout and then
looked hopefully at his companions.  "Reckon we can
manage th' haul.  Totin' them boards afoot shore will
be tirin'.  Where we drivin' to?"

Jerry pointed out the little house, but shook his head.
"We can't make it."

"Cowboy," said Tex, "that ain't no plowhorse.  When
she feels th' drag of this vehicle in th' sand she'll display
her frank an' candid thoughts about it."

"Then blindfold her," suggested Tom Watkins.  "She
won't know it ain't a steer she's fastened to.  You fellers
can git behind an' push, too."

"'*Sic transit gloria mundi,*'" murmured Jane, preparing
to descend to earth.

"'*Sic transit*' glorious Monday," repeated Tex, stepping
to assist her.  "Only it ain't Monday.  Take my honest
hand, lady, and jump."  He turned and looked at the
grinning engineer.  "Now, you cactus-eatin' burro, try
yore handkerchief.  If *our* idea works, all right; if yore
idea don't work, it's Murphy's fault.  Commence!"

"I'm thinkin' it would work better if th' car was off
th' track," caustically commented Murphy.  "I misdoubt
if we can climb that buffer; th' flanges on these wheels
are deep an' strong an' I'm shore we can't pull th' rails
over.  If th' engineer will lend a hand here we mebby
can clear th' track without unloadin'.  I'll take th' off
side; ye byes take th' other, which makes it even, for
it is a well-known fact that one Irish section-boss is worth
two punchers.  Are ye ready, now?"

"I've heard they can run faster than two cowpunchers,"
retorted Tex.  "For the ashes of your fathers, *lift*!
Try it again--now.  Inch her over--that's the way.
Now then, *lift*!  Once more--*lift*!  Phew!  All right:
proceed, cowboy," he grunted.

"Hold yer horses!" shouted Murphy.  "What's th'
good av a section-boss that can't lay a track?" he
demanded, taking up a two-by-four, Tex following his lead.
The car was lifted onto the timbers and the procession
went on again.  "Will they spread, now?" queried
Murphy doubtfully, watching them closely.  He had just
decided they would not when they did.  After numerous
troubles the little house was reached, the lumber unloaded,
and the car sent back without rails.

"Goin' to make any more hauls?" asked the horseman.

"We are not," said Tex with emphasis.  "We could
'a' toted this stuff over in half th' time.  *Tempus* fidgets,
an' I'm catchin' it.  Yore ideas are plumb fine till they're
put in practice."

"*My* ideas?" queried the disfigured rider, his rising
eyebrows pushing wrinkles onto his forehead.  "Didn't
you tell me to chuck my rope over that bobbin' handle?"

"Do you allus have to do what yo're told?" retorted
Tex.  "Answer me that!  Do you?"

The rider looked down at Jane, who was nearly
convulsed, and sighed with deep regret, and because her
presence forbade the only appropriate retort, he shook
his head sorrowfully and turned to haul the car back to
the track.

"Hey!" called Tex.  "Sling them spools of barb wire
across yore saddle.  We might as well get more of that
stuff while we have yore good-natured assistance.  Just
chuck it on any place an' bring it here."

"You just can't chuck a spool of wire on a saddle any
place," retorted the puncher.  "Was you speakin' about
ideas?"

"An' while yer about it," said Murphy, "ye might bring
back a spade, th' saws, three hammers, that box av nails,
an' them staples.  Th' staples are in a little keg--th'
one without th' handle.  I've a mind to start buildin'
today.  What do ye say, Tex?  Good for ye: yer a man
after me own heart."

Despite his aches and bruises the puncher's feet left
the stirrups and slowly went up until he stood with his
shoulder on the saddle.  He waved his legs three times
and resumed the correct posture for riding.  Words were
hopelessly inadequate.  He looked at Jane, who was
shrieking and pointing at the ground under the horse.
Thomas craned his neck and looked down.  He thereupon
dismounted and picked up one Colt's .45, one pocket-knife,
one watch which now needed expert attention,
various coins, a plug of tobacco, and three horseshoe
nails.  Murphy stared at him, spat disgustedly, and
attacked the pile of lumber.

After the puncher's return the work went on rapidly,
and when the roof of the coop was finished, the three
perspiring workmen stepped back to admire it.

"We've got to slat them windows," said Tex, thinking
of coyotes.

"An' we got thirteen nests to build," said Thomas
Watkins.

"Th' saints be praised!" ejaculated Murphy, staring
incredulously at the battle-scarred recruit.  "Mebby
there'll be a coincidence about twelve layin' all at once,
but there won't be no thirteenth on th' job.  Mebby yer
thinkin' th' Sultan will nest down alongside them to set
them a good example?  Six boxes will be a-plenty,
Tommy, my lad."

Tommy tilted his sombrero to scratch his head.  "Well,
if you reckon there won't be no stampedin', mebby six
will be enough, 'though I'd hate to think of 'em milling
frantic for their turn on th' nests.  An' while we're
speakin' of calamities, I'm sayin' good chickens will fly
over th' fence you fellers aim to build.  Six feet ain't
high enough, nohow."

"We clip their wings, Tommy," enlightened Tex.

"We clip one wing close up," corrected Murphy.
"That lifts 'em on one side an' flops 'em around in a
circle.  I can easy see you ain't no *hen puncher*."

"Th' principle is sound in theory an' proved by practice,"
said Tex.  "Just like when you saw off th' laigs on
one side of a steer.  That allus keeps 'em from jumpin'
fences."

"Too cussed bad you stopped that miner," growled
Watkins.  "I'd 'a' been a whole lot better off dead."

"We're sorry, too," retorted Murphy.  "Now, then;
we got a four-sided fence to build, three posts to a side.
That's a dozen holes to dig."

"Tell you what," suggested Tommy, winking at Tex.
"You can handle a spade all around us, one Irish
section-boss bein' worth two punchers.  Besides we only got one
spade for th' three of us.  You dig th' north an' south
sides while me an' Tex start on nests an' put up th'
roosts.  Then we'll dig th' east an' west sides while yo're
settin' yore posts an' tampin' 'em."

"An I'll have mine set while you fellers git ready to
start on yer roosts," boasted Murphy, grabbing the
spade and starting to work.  Jane Saunders, who had
come up unobserved, suddenly stuffed her handkerchief
in her mouth and fled back to the house.

There ensued great hammering and frantic dirt
throwing.  Tex and his companion were hampered by mirth
and were only building the last nest when Murphy stuck
his head in the door.

"Ye wouldn't last in no gang av mine!" he jeered.
"I got me holes dug an' th' posts set.  Set 'em
single-handed an' they're true as a plumb line."

"All right, Murphy," said Tommy without looking up.
"Run along an' do th' other two while we're finishin' up.
It's gettin' late."

"Tryin' to lay it onto me, eh?" demanded Murphy.
"You an' yer two post holes!  Ye must think--" he
stopped short, thought a moment, and then slyly glanced
out at the unfinished sides of the enclosure.  "Hivin
save us!" he muttered and slipped out without another
word.

Tommy wiped his eyes and leaned against the wall for
support.  "Four sides," he babbled.  "Three to a side:
that's a dozen holes to dig!  He will make smart remarks
about my thirteen nests, will he?"

"Figures don't lie, an' logic is logic," laughed Tex.
"Reckon we can't finish th' fence today; but it don't
make no difference, anyhow.  Them chickens are as safe
in th' toolshed as they'd be up here.  Did you close th'
doors when you left?" he demanded anxiously.

"Yes; too many hungry, stray dogs around.  I'd liked
to 'a' gone to th' finish with you boys, but I got to get
back to th' ranch.  Climb up behind me an' I'll let you
off at th' hotel."

"I'll wait for Murphy," replied Tex.  "He'll mebby
need help about somethin'.  I'm cussed glad to know you,
Watkins; an' I've shore had a circus today."

"You pulled me out of a bad hole, Tex; an' you shore
as shootin' dug one for yoreself.  This town's run by th'
miners, a lot of hoof-poundin' grubs, with pack mules for
pardners.  There's been feelin's between us an' them
walkin' fools," here he voiced the riders' contempt for
men who walked, "for a long time.  Yo're a puncher,
an' you shore come out flat an' took sides today.  Tell
you what--either you come out to th' ranch with me,
or I'll stay here in town with you.  Come along: we'll
find you a good cayuse, an' not rob you, neither."

"Can't do it, Tommy," replied Tex, warming to his
new acquaintance.  "I got my eye on a roan beauty an'
I'm goin' to own him by tomorrow.  He won't cost me a
red cent.  So far's danger is concerned, I ain't in none
that my tongue or my six-gun can't get me out of.  But
I'll ride out an' pay yore outfit a visit after I get th'
roan."

"That's th' third best cayuse in this section," replied
Tommy.  "Williams owns all three of 'em, too.  There
ain't nothin' on th' ranch that can touch any of 'em."  He
paused and looked closely at his companion.  "You heard
any war-talk ag'in' th' agent?"

"Only a rumblin', far off," answered Tex.  "Th' dust
ain't plain yet, so I can't tell how it's headin'.  What do
you know about it?"

"Not half as much as Murphy, I bet," replied Watkins.
"You ask him.  It's a cussed shame for a man to be
hounded by a pack of dogs.  Well, I'm off.  Remember
that you got friends on th' C Bar when you need 'em,
which you shore as shootin' will.  We'll come a-runnin'."  He
shook hands and went out, Tex loafing after him as
far as the door.  "Tim, I reckon you an' Tex can manage
to get along without me now, so I'll drift along.  I'm
due at th' ranch."

"Whose?" asked Murphy carelessly, trying a post
to see if it was well set.

"Julius Caesar Curtis: Judy, for short," answered
Watkins, holding out his hand.  "You can leave th' other
four posts for me to set when I come in again," he
grinned.

"For a bye's-sized chew av tobaccy I'd skin ye,"
chuckled Tim, shaking the hand heartily.  "Much
obliged, Thomas, me son.  Come in an' see us when
ye can.  There's so few decent men in this part av th'
country that ye'll be welcome as th' flowers av spring."

Tommy swung into the saddle, raised his hat to the
woman who appeared in the kitchen door, and whirled
around to leave.

"Mr. Watkins!" called Jane, running toward the little
group.  "You are not going to leave without your supper?
Your place is set and Jerry is pouring the coffee."

Tommy Watkins flushed, swallowed his Adam's apple,
looked blankly at Tex and Tim, stammered gibberish,
and managed to convey the impression that the salvation
of the ranch and its outfit depended on his immediate
departure.  His mute appeal for moral support was coldly
received by his fellow-builders.

"I do not wish to be rude, Mr. Watkins," smiled Jane,
"and I would not wish to turn you from your duty: but
I shall be a little disappointed if you won't allow me to
show my poor appreciation of what you have done for
us.  But I will not press you: if not tonight, then some
other time?"

The savior of the C Bar flushed deeper, received scowling
looks from his late bosom companions, who knew a
liar when they heard one, and he ducked his head quickly.
"Yes, ma'am," he blurted eagerly.  "I'd admire to stay,
but Curtis shore is dependin' on me to git back.  If you'll
excuse me, ma'am--I--so--by," and he was whirling
away in a cloud of dust, his sombrero held out at arm's
length.

Murphy looked gravely at Tex and flushed slightly.
"He has an important job, miss," he said.

Tex looked gravely at Murphy and did not flush.  "A
great weight for shoulders so young," he lied, suspecting,
however, that Tommy might have acquired, during the
course of the day, a very great weight, indeed.  He had
observed his glances at Jane.

She smiled inscrutably and turned to look at the coop,
clapping her hands in delight.  "Isn't it fine, and new,
and piney!" she exclaimed, sniffing the tangy odor.  "And
it looks so strong--I must peek in for a moment."

There was not much room to spare when they all had
entered, a fact which Tex easily explained.

"You see, Miss Saunders," he said, waving his hands,
"it is to serve only as a nesting place and a shelter from
predatory animals.  During the day your flock will roam
about the enclosure outside; but at twilight, without fail,
it must be confined securely in this coop.  No self-respecting
coyote will be restrained for five minutes by the
wire--he either will force himself between the strands, or
dig under; and there are any number of those thieves
around this town.  They cannot be trapped or baffled--they
will outwait or outwit any watcher.  The only thing
that will stop them is something physically impregnable.

"Tim and I intend to weave slats and laths between
the lower strands of wire, running them vertically up
from the ground, in which their lower ends will be
driven.  They will offer some protection, but their chief
value will be to keep the chickens from getting outside.
No coyote will be bothered by them for very long, and
in order to save yourself the labor of filling up the
tunnels they surely will dig if they can get in in no other
way, I'd advise you to leave the fence gate wide open
every night.

"We lay this floor for that reason.  No matter what
they are able to do, they can't get into the coop.  I'll
wager that you will find tunnels running under it before
long.  Don't fail to close this building before nightfall,
and your flock will be safe."

"Amen," said Murphy.  "They're cunnin' divvils,
coyotes are!"

"I don't know how to thank you," said Jane, impulsively
putting her hands on the arms of her companions.
"Think what it will mean to Jerry--a dozen fresh eggs
a day!"

Murphy chuckled.  "Four a day will be doin' good,
an' not that many for awhile.  I'll get ye some grit, an'
make a batch av whitewash."

"Hey!" called a voice.  "Everything's getting cold!"

"There's Jerry, playing domestic tyrant," laughed
Jane.  "Isn't it remarkable what a difference it makes to
the cook?  He thinks nothing of making me wait.  Come
on--you can tell me all about chicken raising after
supper."  She cast a furtive glance at Tex, and past him at
the twilight-softened range beyond, where Tommy
Watkins somewhere rode to save his ranch and outfit.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A TRIMMER TRIMMED`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER V


.. class:: center medium bold

   A TRIMMER TRIMMED

.. vspace:: 2

About ten o'clock that night Murphy and Tex
neared the station and stopped short at the former's
sudden ejaculation.

"Th' switch is open," he said.  "Not that anythin'
serious might happen, unless th' engineer went blind;
but either av them would have plenty to say about it.
Trust 'em for that.  An' tomorrow is Overton's trick
east-bound.  He's worse than Casey.  Wait here a bit,"
and the section-boss went over, threw the switch, and
returned.

Soon they stopped again at the station to say good
night to each other.  Murphy seemed a little constrained
and worried and soon gave the reason for it.

"Tex," he said in a low voice, "yer takin' sides
with th' weakest party, an' yer takin' 'em fast an' open.
Right now yer bein' weighed an' discussed, an' to no
profit to yerself.  I can see that yer a man that will go
his own way--but if th' hotel gets unpleasant an' tirin',
yer more than welcome in my shanty.  'Tis only an old
box car off its wheels, but there's a bunk in it for ye any
time ye want to use it.  Tread easy now, an' keep yer
two eyes open; an' while I'm willin' to back ye up, I
daren't do it unless it's a matter av life an' death.  I'm
Irish, an' so is Costigan.  There's a strong feelin' out
here ag'in' us--an' when a mob starts not even wimmin
an' childer are safe.  Costigan has both, an' there's th'
lass, as well.  I've urged Mike to send his family back
along th' line somewhere, but his wife says *no*.  She's
foolish, no doubt, but I say, God bless such wimmin."

"She's not foolish," replied Tex with conviction.
"She's wise, riskin' herself mebby, on a long chance.
While she stays here Costigan will use a lot of discretion--if
she goes, he might air his opinions too much, or get
drunk and leave her a widow.  I'll do what I can to
stave off trouble, even to eatin' a little dirt; but, Tim, I'd
like nothing better than to send for a few friends an' let
things take their natural course.  Every time I look at
that nephew I fair itch to strangle him.  It can't be
possible that Miss Saunders gives him any encouragement?
I'm much obliged about yore offer.  I'd take it
up right now except that it would cause a lot of talk an'
thinkin'.  Here, you better hand me two dollars for my
day's work--there ain't no use lyin' about anythin' if
th' truth will serve.  I'll return it th' next time I see you."

"Th' lass won't look at that scut.  He follers her
around like a dog," Murphy growled, and then a grin
came to his face as he dug into his pocket.  "Here.  Yer
overpaid, but I should 'a' dickered with ye before I let
ye go to work."

"Thanks, boss," chuckled Tex.  "You'll need me
tomorrow, for th' wire stringin'?"

"Yer fired!" answered Murphy, his voice rising and
changing in timbre.  "Yer a loafin', windy, clumsy,
bunglin' no-account.  By rights that ought to make ye
mad.  Does it?"

Tex could not fail to read the answer he was expected
to make, for it lay in the section-boss' tones; and he
thought that he had seen something move around the
corner of the station.  He stepped on the toe of one of
his companion's boots to acknowledge the warning.

"Am I?" he demanded, angrily.  "Yo're so d--d used
to bossin' Irish loafers that you don't know a good man
when you see one.  You don't have to fire me, you Mick!
I'm quittin', an' you can go to h--l!"

Murphy's arm stopped in mid-air as Tex's gun leaped
from its sheath.

"You checked it just in time," snapped Tex.  "Any
more of that an' I'll blow you wide open.  Turn around
an' hoof it to yore sty!"

Murphy, strangling a chuckle, backed warily away.
"If ye was as handy with tools as ye are with that d--d
gun--" he growled.  "'Tis lucky for ye that ye have it!"

"This is my tool," retorted Tex.  "Shut up an' get
out before you make me use it.  Fire me, hey?  You got
one ---- ---- gall!"

He stood staring after the shuffling Irishman, muttering
savagely to himself, until the section-boss had been
swallowed up by the darkness.  Then he turned, slammed
the gun back into its holster and stamped toward the
hotel; but he stopped in the nearest saloon to give the
eavesdropper, if there had been one, a chance to get to
the hotel before him.

The bar was deserted, but half a dozen prospectors
were seated at the tables, and they greeted his entrance
with scowls.  The two cavalrymen present glanced at him
in disinterested, momentary curiosity and resumed their
maudlin conversation.  Some shavetail's ears must have
been burning out at their post.

Tex stormed up to the bar and slammed two silver
dollars on it.  "Take this dirty money an' give th' boys
cigars for it," he growled.  "Me, I'm not smokin' any
of 'em.  Fire me, huh?  I'd like to see th' section-boss
that fires me!  'Overpaid,' he says, an' me workin' like a
dog!  'I don't need ye tomorry,' he says: I cussed soon
told him what he needed, but he didn't wait for it.  Fire
me?" he sneered.  "Like h--l!"

The cavalrymen grinned sympathetically and nodded
their thanks for the cigars, which they had no little
difficulty in lighting.  The other men in the room took their
gifts silently, two of them abruptly pushing them across
the table, away from them.

"There'll be others that'll mebby git what they're
needin'," said a rasping, unsteady voice from a corner
table.  "'Specially if he sticks his nose in where it ain't
wanted."

Tex casually turned and nodded innocently.  "My
sentiments exactly," he agreed, waiting to receive
unequivocal notification that it was he for whom the
warning was meant.  A little stupidity was often a useful
thing.

"Nobody asked you for yore sentiments," retorted the
prospector.  "Strangers can't come into this town an'
carry things with a high hand.  Next time, Jake will kill
you."

Tex looked surprised and then his eyes glinted.  "That
bein' a little job he can start 'most any time," he retorted.
"When a man fights worse'n a dog he makes me mad;
an' he fought like a cur.  I'd do it ag'in.  He got what
he was needin', that's all."

The miner glowered at him.  "An' he's got friends,
Jake has," he asserted.

"Tell him that he'll need 'em--all of 'em," sneered
Tex.  "Our little session was plumb personal, but I'll let
in his friends.  Th' gate's wide open.  They don't have
to dig in under th' fence, or sit on their haunches outside
an' howl.  An' let me tell you somethin' for yore personal
benefit--I've swallered all I aim to swaller tonight.  I'm
peaceable an' not lookin' for no trouble--you hold yore
yap till I get through talkin'--but I ain't dodgin' none.
Somehow I seem to be out of step in this town; but I'm
whistlin' that I'm cussed particular about who sets me
right.  I ain't got no grudges ag'in' nobody; I'm tryin'
to act accordin' to my lights, but I ain't apologizin' to
nobody for them lights.  Anybody objectin'?"

"Fair enough," said one of the cavalrymen.  "I like
his frank ways."

"That rides for me, too," endorsed his companion,
aggressively.

"Shut up, you!" cried the bartender.

"For two bits--" pugnaciously began a miner, but he
was cut short.

"An' you, too!" barked the man behind the counter,
a gun magically appearing over the edge of the bar.
"This has gone far enough!  Stranger, you spoke yore
piece fair.  Tom," he said, looking at the angry miner,
"you got nothin' more to say: yo're all through.  If you
think you has, then go outside an' shout it there.  Th'
subject is closed.  What'll you-all have?"

Tex tarried after the round had been drunk but he did
not order one on his own account, feeling that it would
be a mistake under the circumstances.  It might be
regarded as a sign of weakness, and was almost certain to
cause trouble.  Turning his back on the sullen miner he
talked casually with the bartender and the cavalrymen,
and then one of the miners cleared his throat and spoke.

"Did you have a run-in with th' big Irishman?" he asked.

Tex leaned carelessly against the bar, grinned and
frankly recounted the affair, and before he had finished
the narrative, answering grins appeared here and there
among his audience.  The sputter of a sulphur match
caught his eye as his late adversary slowly reached for
and lit the cigar he had pushed from him a few minutes
earlier, but Tex did not immediately glance that way.
When he had finished the story he looked around the
room, noticed that all were smoking and he nodded
slightly in friendly understanding.  A little later he said
good night, smiled pleasantly at the once sullen prospector,
and went carelessly out into the night.  The buzz
of comment following his departure was not unfavorable
to him.

When he entered the hotel barroom all eyes turned to
him, and he noticed a grim smile on Williams' face and
that the evil countenance of the nephew was aquiver with
suspicion.  Walking over, he stepped close to the table,
watching the play, and from where he could keep tabs
on Bud Haines' every move.  During the new deal
Williams leaned back, stretched, and glanced up.

"Had yore supper?" he carelessly asked.

Tex nodded.  "Shore: reg'lar home-cooked feed.  It
went good for a change.  I reckon I shore earned it,
too."  He drew out a sack of tobacco, filled a cigarette paper
and held the sack in his teeth while he rolled himself a
smoke.  "What's paid around here for a good, half-day's
work?" he mumbled between his teeth.

"What kind of work?" judicially asked Williams.

Tex removed the sack, moistened the cigarette and
held it unlighted while he answered.  "Freightin' on
foot, carpenterin', diggin', an' doin' what I was told to
do."

"Dollar to a dollar four bits," replied Williams.
"What you doin'?  Hirin' out?"

"I was; but I ain't no more," replied Tex, lighting up.
He exhaled a lungful of smoke and dragged up a chair.
"I asked two dollars, an' there was an argument.  That's
all."

The hands lay where they had been dealt, Williams
having let his own lay, and the players were idly
listening until he should pick it up.

"What's it all about?" asked Williams.  "You talk
like a dish of hash."

The eager nephew squirmed closer to the table and his
assumed look of indifference was a heavy failure.

Tex laughed, leaned back, and with humorous verbal
pigments painted a rapidly changing picture to the best
of his by no means poor ability.  He took them up to the
digging of the post holes, and then leaned forward.
"Murphy said we'd build a four-sided fence, three posts
to th' side, makin twelve in all.  That suited us, an' as
there was only one spade, we told him to go ahead an'
dig his holes while we worked on th' nest boxes.  He was
to do th' north an' th' south sides, which he said was
fair."  The speaker paused a moment, leaning back in his
chair, his eyelids nearly closed.  Between their narrowed
openings he looked swiftly around.  The card players
grinned in expectation of some joke about to appear,
Williams looked suspicious and puzzled, but the
bartender's eyes popped open and he choked back a sudden
burst of laughter.  Tex drew in a long breath, pushed
back into his chair and glanced around at the players.
"I was honest an' fair enough to say th' diggin' wasn't
evenly divided, us bein' two an' him only one.  What do
you boys say?"

"What's it all amount to anyhow?" snarled the
nephew.  "Who cares if it was or not?  What did you
think of th' gal?" he demanded.

Tex breathed deeply, relaxed, and gravely considered
his boots.  "Well, if I was aimin' to start a kindergarten
I might have took more notice cf her--an' you, too,
bub.  Can't you do yore own lookin'?" he plaintively
demanded.  "Anyhow, I was warned fair, wasn't I?
Huh!  When you get to be my age an' have had my
experience with this fool world you won't be takin' no
more interest in 'em than I do.  Beggin' yore pardon for
interruptin' th' previous conversation we was holdin'.
I'll perceed from where I was."  He looked back at the
card players.  "We was debatin' th' fairness of th' offer
to dig them holes.  What you boys say?"

The man nearest to him pursed his lips and cogitated.
The subject was no more frivolous than the majority of
subjects which had furnished bones of contention many
a night.  Most barroom arguments start on even less.  "I
reckon it was, him bein' more used to diggin'."

His partner leaned forward.  "What did he say about
it, at first?"

"He was shore satisfied," answered Tex as the bartender,
turning his back on the room, shook with the ague.

The last questioner bobbed his head decisively.  "Then
it shore was fair."

Williams nodded slowly, for his opinions were not
lightly given.  "I'd say it was.  What about it?"

"Oh, nothin' much," growled Tex.  "I reckon he
changed his mind later on."  He looked over at the
gambler leaning against the wall, the same gambler he had
seen on the train.  At this notice Denver Jim, sensing
possible bets, straightened up, winked, and made a sign
which among his class was a notification that he had
declared himself in for half the winnings of a game.  Tex
shook his head slightly and frowned, as if deeply puzzled
over Murphy's conduct.  The gambler repeated the sign
and moved forward.

Tex did some quick thinking.  He could not afford to
be linked to a tin-horn and he did not intend to make any
money out of his joke.  Whatever he won in this town
he would win at cards, and win it alone.  His second
signal of refusal was backed up by his hand dropping
carelessly and resting on the butt of his gun.  The
gambler scowled, barely nodded his acquiescence and went
to the bar for a drink.  Bud Haines glanced up from the
weekly paper he was reading, saw nothing to hold his
interest, and returned to his reading.

Tex went on with his story, telling about the supper
and his scene with Murphy at the station, repeating the
latter word for word as nearly as he could from the time
when he had detected the approach of the eavesdropper.
From the constantly repeated looks of satisfaction on
Williams' face he knew that the local boss had been given
a detailed account of the incident, and that he was checking
it up, step by step.  Briefly sketching his trouble in
the saloon, Tex threw the cigarette butt at a distant box
cuspidor and stretched.  "An' here I am," he finished.

Williams picked up his hand, glancing absent-mindedly
at the cards.  "Yes," he grunted, "here you are."  Putting
the cards back on the table he carelessly pushed them
from him, squaring the edges with zealous care.  "You
come near not bein' here, though," he said, his level look
steady and accusing.  "Whatever made you jump on
Jake that way?" he demanded coldly.

"Shucks!  Here it comes again!" said Tex.  He
looked suspicious and defiant.  "I did it to stop a murder,
an' a lynchin'," he answered shortly.

"Very fine!" muttered Williams.  "You was a little
mite overanxious--there wouldn't 'a' been no lynchin'
of Jake; but there might 'a' been one, just th' same.  I
had to do some real talkin' to stop it.  It ain't wise for
strangers to act sudden in a frontier town--'specially in
this town.  That's somethin' you hadn't ought to forget,
Mr. Jones."

"If I get yore meanin' plain, yo're intendin' me to
think I was in danger of bein' lynched?"

"You shore was."

"Then yo're admittin' that this town of Windsor will
lynch a man because he keeps a murder from bein'
committed, by lickin' th' man who tried to do it?"

"Exactly.  Jake has lots of friends."

"He's plumb welcome to 'em, an' I reckon, if he's that
kind of a man, he shore needs 'em bad.  But from what I
saw of Jake he ain't that kind of a man.  I'm a friend
of his'n, too.  I'm so much a friend of Jake's that if he
treads on my toes I'll save him from facin' th' trials an'
hardships that come with old age.  His existence is
precarious, anyhow.  He's allus just one step ahead of
poverty an' grub stakes.  Life for Jake is just one placer
disappointment after another.  He allus has to figger on
a hard winter.  Then he has to dodge sickness an' saddles,
wrestlin' tricks, boxin' tricks, an' fast gunplay.  But Jake
is th' kind of a man that does his own fightin' for hisself.
Yo're plumb mistaken about him."

"Mebby I am," admitted Williams.  "I didn't know
you was acquainted with anybody around here, 'specially
th' C Bar outfit."

"I wasn't," replied Tex.  "It ain't my nature to be
distant an' disdainful, however."  He grinned.  "I get
acquainted fast."

"You acted prompt in helpin' that Watkins," accused
Williams.

"I shore had to, or he'd 'a' quit bein' Watkins,"
retorted Tex.  "You look here: We'll be savin' a lot of
time if we come right down to cases.  I saw a big man
tryin' to kick th' head off another man, a smaller one,
that was down.  I stopped him from doin' it without
hurtin' him serious.  If it'd been th' other way 'round
I'd done th' same thing.  As it stands, it's between Jake
an' me.  We'll let it stay that way until th' lynchin' party
starts out.  Then anybody will be plumb welcome to cut
in an' stop it.  Excuse me for interferin' with yore game--but
th' fault ain't mine.  Talkin' is dry work--bartender,
set 'em up for all hands.  Who's winnin'?"

Williams picked up his cards again, looked at them,
puckered his lips and glanced around at his companions.
He cleared his throat and looked back at Tex.  "I reckon
I was, a little.  Want to sit in?  After all, Jake's troubles
are his own: we got enough without 'em."

Tex looked at the table and the players, shrugged his
shoulders and answered carelessly.  "Don't feel like
playin' very much--ate too much supper, I reckon.  Later
on, when I ain't so heavy with grub, mebby I'll take
cards.  I'd rather play ag'in' fewer hands, tonight, anyhow."

Williams looked up and sneered.  "Think you got a
better chance, that way?"

"I get sort of confused when there's so many playin',"
confessed Tex; "but I shore can beat th' man that
invented th' game, playin' it two-handed.  I used to play
for hosses, two-hand.  Allus had luck, somehow, playin'
for them.  Why, once I owned six cayuses at one time,
that I'd won."

"That so?  You like that gray: how much will you
put up ag'in' him?"

"I wouldn't play for no gray hoss--they're plumb
unlucky with me.  I ain't superstitious, but I shore don't
like gray hosses."

"Got anythin' ag'in' sorrels?" Williams asked with
deep sarcasm.

"Nothin' much; but I'm shore stuck on blacks an
roans.  I call them hosses!" Tex grinned at the crowd
and looked back at Williams.  "Yes, sir; I shore do."

"How much will you put up ag'in' a good roan, then?"

"Ain't got much money," evaded Tex, backing away.

"Got two hundred dollars?"

"Not for no cayuse.  Besides, I don't know th' hoss
yo're meanin'."

"That roan you saw today," replied Williams.  "John
said you liked him a lot.  I'll play you one hand, th' roan,
ag'in' two hundred."

Tex glanced furtively at the front door and then at
the stairway.  "Let it go till tomorrow night," he mumbled.

"Yo're a great talker, ain't you?" sneered Williams.
"I'll put up th' roan ag'in' a hundred an' fifty.  One
hand, just me an' you."

"Well, mebby," replied Tex.  "Better make her th'
best two out of three.  I might have bad luck th' first
hand."

Williams' disgust was obvious and a snicker ran
through the room.  "I wouldn't play that long for a
miserable sum like that ag'in' a stranger.  One hand,
draw poker, my roan ag'in' yore one-fifty.  Put up, or
shut up!"

"All right," reluctantly acquiesced Tex.  "We allus
used to make it two out of three up my way; but I may
be lucky.  After you get through--I ain't in no hurry."

Williams laughed contemptuously: "You shore don't
have to say so!"  He smiled at his grinning companions
and resumed his play.

Tex dropped into the seat next to the sneering nephew,
from where he could watch the gun-fighter.  Bud's
expression duplicated that of his boss and he paid but little
attention to the wordy fool who was timid about playing
poker for a horse.

"Hot, ain't it?" said Tex pleasantly.  "Hot, an' close."

"Some folks find it so; reckon mebby it is," answered
the nephew.  "What did you people talk about at
supper?" he asked.

"Hens," answered Tex, grinning.  "She's got a dozen.
You'd think they was rubies, she's that stuck up about
'em.  Kind of high-toned, ain't she?"

The nephew laughed sneeringly.  "She'll lose that,"
he promised.  "I don't aim to be put off much longer."

"Mebby yo're callin' too steady," suggested Tex.
"Sometimes that gives 'em th' idea they own a man.  You
don't want to let 'em feel too shore of you."

Henry Williams shifted a little.  "No," he replied;
"I ain't callin' too often.  In fact, I ain't done no callin'
at all, yet.  I've sort of run acrost her on th' right-of-way,
an' watched her a little.  I get a little bit scary,
somehow--just can't explain it.  But I aim to call at th'
house, for I'm shore gettin' tired of ridin' wide."

"Ain't they smart, though?" chuckled Tex; "holdin'
back an' actin' skittish.  I cured a gal of that, once; but
I don't reckon you can do it.  It takes a lot of nerve an'
will-power.  You feel like playin' show-downs, two-bits
a game?"

"Make it a dollar, an' I will.  How'd you cure that
one of yourn?"

"Dollar's purty steep," objected Tex.  "Make it a
half."  He leaned back and laughed reminiscently.  "I
worked a system on her.  Lemme deal first?"

"Suit yourself.  Turn 'em face up--it'll save time.
What did you do?"

"Made her think I didn't care a snap about her.  Want
to cut?  Well, I didn't know--some don't want to," he
explained.  "Saves time, that's all.  Reckon it's yore pot
on that queen.  Deal 'em up."

"How'd you do it? snub her?"

"Gosh, no!  Don't you ever do that: it makes 'em mad.
Just let 'em alone--sort of look at 'em without seein'
'em real well.  You dassn't make 'em mad!  You win
ag'in.  Yo're lucky at this game: want to quit?"

"Give you a chance to get it back," sneered the
nephew.  "Think it would work with her?"

"Don't know: she got any other beaux?"

"I've seen to that.  She ain't.  Take th' money an'
push over yore cards.  Do you think it will work with
her?" Henry persisted.

"Gosh, sonny: don't you ask me that!  No man knows
very much about wimmin', an' me less than most men.
It's a gamble.  She's got to jump one way or th' other,
ain't she?  How was you figgerin' to win?"

"Just go get her, that's all.  She'll tame down after
awhile."

"But you allus can do that, can't you?  Now, if it was
me I'd try to get her to come of her own accord, for
things would be sweeter right at th' very start.  But,
then, I'm a gambler, allus willin' to run a risk.  A man's
got to foller his own nature.  I got you beat ag'in: this
shore is a nice game."

"Too weak," objected the nephew.  "Dollar a hand
would suit me better.  My eights win this.  Want to
boost her?"

Tex reflected covetously.  "Well, I might go high as
a dollar, but not no more."

"Dollar it is, then.  What's yore opinion of that gal?"

"Shucks," laughed Tex.  "She's nice enough, I reckon;
but she ain't my style.  Yore uncle's game is bustin' up
an' he's lookin' at me.  See you later.  You win ag'in,
but I allus have bad luck doublin' th' stakes, 'though I
ain't what you might call superstitious.  See you later."

Tex arose and went over to the other table, raked in
the cards, squared them to feel if they had been trimmed,
thought they had been, and pushed them out for the cut,
watching closely to see how the face cards had been
shaved.  Williams turned the pack, announced that high
dealt, grasped the sides of the pack and turned a queen.
Tex also grasped the sides of the pack remaining and
also turned a queen.  He clumsily dropped the deck,
growled something and bunched it again, shoving it
toward his companion in such a way that Williams
would have to show a deliberate preference for the side
grip.  This he did and Tex followed his lead.  The ends
of the face cards and aces had been trimmed and the
sides of the rest of the deck had been treated the same
way.  Because of this the sides of the face cards stuck
out from the deck and the ends of the spot cards
projected.  Yet so carefully had it been done that it was not
noticeable.  Williams cut again, turning another queen.
Tex cut a king and picked up the pack.  As he shuffled
he was careful not to show any of his characteristic
motions, for although his opponent had forgotten his
face in the score of years behind their former meeting,
it might take but very little to start his memory
backtracking.

"My money ag'in' th' roan," said the dealer, pushing
out the cards for the cut.  "Hundred an' fifty," he
explained.

Williams cut deep and nodded.  "This one game decides
it: a discard, a draw, an' a show-down.  Right?"

"Right," grunted Tex, swiftly dropping the cards
before them.  Williams picked up his hand, but gave no
sign of his disappointment.  There was not a face card
in it.  He made his selection, discarded, and called for
three cards.  Tex had discarded two.  Williams wanted
no face cards on the draw, since he held a pair of nines.
One more nine would give him a fair hand, and another
would just about win for him.  He drew a black queen
and a pair of red jacks.

"Well," he said, "ready to show?"

Tex grunted again, glanced at Bud Haines, and lay
down three queens, a nine, and a jack.  "What you
got?" he anxiously asked.

"An empty box stall, I reckon," growled his adversary,
spreading his hand.  He pushed back without another
word to Tex, looked at his stableman and spoke gruffly.
"John, give that roan to Mr. Jones when he calls for it.
He's to keep it somewhere else.  I'm turnin' in.  Good
night, all."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`FRIENDLY INTEREST`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center medium bold

   FRIENDLY INTEREST

.. vspace:: 2

Freshly shaven, his boots well rubbed, and his
clothes as free from dust as possible, Tex sauntered
down the street after breakfast the next morning and
stepped into the stable.  John Graves met him, nodded,
and led the way to the roan's stall.

"You got a fine hoss, Mr. Jones," he said, opening
the gate.

"Yes, I have; an' you've taken good care of him.  His
coat couldn't be better.  I like a man that looks after a
hoss."

"I ain't sayin' nothin' about nobody, but I'm glad to
see him change owners," said Graves, glancing around.
"Rub yore hand on his flank.  I got th' coat so it hides
'em real well."

Tex stroked the white nose, rubbed the neck and
shoulders, and slowly passed his hand over the flank.
The scars were easily found.  He wheeled and looked at
the stableman.  "Who in h--l did that, an' why?" he
demanded.

"That ain't for me to say, an' sayin' wouldn't do no
good; but I'm plumb glad he's in other hands.  Just
because a hoss fights back when he's bein' abused ain't no
reason to cut him to pieces.  An' a big man can kick
hard when he's mad."

Tex held a lump of sugar to the sensitive, velvety lips
before replying.  "Yes, he can," he admitted.  "Anybody
in town that'll treat this hoss right, an' give him a stall?"

"Better see Jim Carney in his saloon.  He's a good,
reliable man an' likes hosses.  He'll take good care of
Oh My."

Tex stared at him.  "Of what?"

"Oh My," replied the stableman.  "Th' rest of th'
name is Cayenne."

"'Suffer little children!'" exclaimed Tex.  "Who
named him that, an why?"

"I reckon Williams did, because he's peppery an' red."

"Good heavens!" ejaculated Tex.  He thought a
moment.  "Huh!  Prophet!  Mecca!  Mohammed!" he
muttered.  Suddenly seeing a great light, he flipped his
sombrero into the air, caught and balanced it on his nose
when it came down, sidestepped, and as it fell, punched
it across the stable.  Turning gravely he shook hands
with the surprised stableman, slapped him on the shoulder
and burst out laughing.  "Where'n blazes did he dig 'em
up?  He don't know what one of them names means;
*There was the Veil through which I might not see*.
Come, John: *Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
must drown the memory of that insolence!*  Wait till I
get my hat: *Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape than
sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.*"

Carney gave them a nonchalant welcome and displayed
little interest in them until Graves told him about the
horse.

"Th' roan, eh?" exclaimed the saloonkeeper.  "I'll
shore find a place for it, but I'm afraid it'll miss th'
beatin's.  There's a closet built across one corner of th'
stable: I'll give you a key to it, Mr. Jones.  It'll be handy
for yore trappin's."

After a few rounds Tex went out, mounted bareback
and, leaving Graves in front of the stable, rode to the
hotel to get his saddle.  Soon thereafter he dismounted
at the station and smiled at the agent.

"'Richard is himself again,'" he chuckled, affectionately
patting Omar.  "An' I still have my kingdom."

"He looks fit for a king to ride," replied Jerry.

"He'd honor a king.  How's th' hen ranch comin'
along?  Got th' fence up yet?"

"Yes; Murphy just finished it.  That looks like
Williams' roan."

"It was.  I won it at poker.  I could feel in my fingers
that I was goin' to be lucky.  Hello!" he exclaimed,
looking at a box across the track.  On it were painted
irregular, concentric circles.  "Looks like it might be a target."

Jerry laughed.  "It is; and so far, unhit."

Tex glanced at the other's low-hung belt and gun.
"Have you shot at it yet?"

Jerry nodded.

"From where?"

"Right here."

"Great mavericks!" said Tex.  "Here: let's see how
fast you can get that gun out, an' empty it at that box.
I got a reason for it."

At the succession of reports the toolshed door flew
open and a huge Irishman, rifle in hand, popped into sight.
Seeing Tex he grunted and slowly went back again.

Tex looked from the box to the marksman, shook his
head, silently unbuckled the belt from its owner's waist,
took the empty gun from the agent's hand, and tossed the
outfit on a near-by box.

"Don't you carry it, Jerry," he said.  "Load it up an'
leave it home.  Popular feelin', even in this town, frowns
at th' shootin' of an unarmed man.  It's somethin' that's
hard to explain away."

"But then I'll be defenseless!" expostulated Jerry,
"It's some protection."

"You were defenseless before I took it from you,"
said Tex.

"But it is some protection," Jerry reiterated.

Tex shook his head.  "It's a screaming invitation for
a killin', that's what it is.  Here: That's you," pointing
to the target.  "You got somethin' I want plumb bad.
You try to stop me from gettin' it, an' I won't listen to
you.  I force th' hand an' you make a move that I can
claim was hostile.  Yo're armed, ain't you?  I might
even slap yore face.  Then this happens."

The spurting smoke enveloped them both, the stabs of
flame and the sharp reports coming with unbelievable
rapidity.  Stepping from the gray fog, Tex pointed.  The
box was split and turned part way around.  The inner
two circles showed six holes.

"I did it in self-defense.  What chance did you have?"
demanded the puncher.

"Great guns!  What shooting!" marveled Jerry, his
mouth open.

"That's good shootin'," admitted Tex.  "Better,
mebby, than most men in this town can do, quite a lot
better than th' average.  There's plenty of men who can't
do as good.  Th' draw was more'n fair, too; better than
most gun-toters; but I know two men that would 'a'
killed me before I jerked loose from th' leather.  I wasn't
showin' off: I was answerin' yore remark about a gun
bein' some protection to you.  While we're speakin' about
guns, can Miss Saunders use one?  Bein' a woman I
hardly thought so, unless Hennery has taught her."

"Henry!" growled Jerry.  "Why would he teach her?"

"Why a young woman like her would be right popular,
out here, or anywhere else," replied Tex.  "House full
of admirers, an' others taggin' along.  I reckoned
Hennery might have showed her how to shoot."

"The devil had a better chance," retorted Jerry.  "If
Henry ever calls at our house she'll scald him.  She
thinks about as little of Henry as she does of a snake."

"I'm admirin' Miss Saunders more every day," said
Tex.  "Havin' disposed of th' interpolation, we'll get
at th' main subject.  As I was sayin', bein' a woman,
she's not likely to be shot at.  But I'm sorry yore Colt is
so big: she couldn't drag a gun like that around with her.
Besides, th' caliber needn't be so big."

"I got a short-barreled .38 home," said Jerry.
He looked a little worried.  "What makes you talk like
that?"

"Bein' a gunman, I reckon; an' my ornery, suspicious
nature," answered Tex.  "Bein' a poker player for years,
readin' faces is a hobby with me.  I've read some in this
town that I don't like.  'Taint nothin' to put a finger on,
but I'm so cussed suspicious of every male biped of th'
genus homo that I allus look for th' worst.  Anyhow, it
wouldn't be no crime if Miss Saunders knew how to use
that snub-nosed .38, would it?  Sort of give her
a sense of security.  Then, if Murphy or our adolescent
Watkins took her out ridin' an showed her how to get th'
most out of its limited possibilities, it ought to relieve
yore mind."

"I don't know of anyone better qualified to get the
most out of a gun than yourself," replied Jerry.  "If it
ain't asking too much," he hastily added.

"Havin' a brand-new, Cayenne pepper cayuse to learn
about, an' show off," laughed Tex, "it wouldn't set on
me like a calamity.  Shall I bring a horse for Miss
Saunders, or saddle up her own?"

"She hasn't any; but----"

"--me no buts," interrupted Tex.  "I'll now pay my
respects to yore sister, with yore permission, an' invite
her to ride out with me, tomorrow, an' view th' lovely
brown hills an' dusty flats, where every prospect pleases,
an' only man is vile.  Procrastination never was a sin of
mine: it's th' one I overlooked.  We'll likely go far
enough from town so there won't be no panicky fears of
a hostile raid.  Does Miss Saunders favor any particular
hoss?"

"No, and she can ride, so you won't have to get one
that's nearly dead."

Tex laughed.  "All right; but when she gets it, it won't
be as ornery as it might be.  How is it that nobody but
Murphy paid any attention to our shootin'?"

"They're used to it by this time."

"Well, so-long," and Tex swung into the saddle and
rode off.

Jane showed her pleasure at his visit and smilingly
accepted his invitation to go riding.  They examined the
coop and yard, talked of numerous things and after
awhile Tex turned to leave, but stopped and grinned.

"Bring your six-gun, Miss Saunders, and we'll have
a match," he said.  "The great western target, the
ubiquitous tin can, is sure to be plentiful, despite the
killing drought."

"My gun?" she laughed.  "I have no gun.  Do you
think that I go around with a gun?"

He tapped his forehead significantly.  "I'm so used to
carrying one that I forgot.  Shucks, that's too bad.  Well,
if we overtake any wild cans you can use mine, although
a smaller gun would be more pleasant for you.  Too bad
you haven't a short-barreled gun--a .32, for instance.
Shooting is really great sport.  Then I'm to call
at two o'clock?"

"If there was some place where we could enjoy a
lunch," she murmured.  "We could leave earlier and get
back earlier."

"There is sure to be," assured Tex, smiling.  "Say
ten o'clock, then?"

"That will be much better.  I'll have everything ready
when you come.  Is there anything in the eating line
which you particularly fancy?"

Tex fanned himself with the sombrero, a happy
expression on his face.  "Yes, there is," he admitted.
"Mallard duck stuffed with Chesapeake oysters.  Plenty
of cold, crisp, tender celery, and any really good brand of
dry champagne.  I'll enjoy anything you prepare, and
I'll have a round-up appetite."

"I'll try to give you a change from hotel food," she
laughed as he swung into the saddle.

She watched him ride away and walked slowly back
to the house.  Then her face brightened a little as she
thought of the revolver in Jerry's room.  Jerry had said
it was a .38.

The station agent answered the hail and went out to
the edge of the platform.

"All fixed?" he asked.

Tex nodded.  "You get her to bring that gun.  I paved
the way for it, but you know her better than I do, and
how to persuade her without making her frightened.
What's it shoot: longs, or shorts?  That's good; shorts
are O.K.  Is Murphy in th' toolshed?"

"He's married to it," smiled Jerry.

"If you see him, tell him I'm goin' to call on him late
tonight.  If his light's *out* I'll know he's home.  Any fool
would know it if it was lit.  Well, so-long."

Jerry looked after him and shook his head, a peculiar,
baffled, friendly light in his eyes.  "I don't know when
you are most serious: when you are serious, or when, you
are joking.  Was your warning about my gun just a
general one, or did it have a special meaning?  And about
Jane learning to shoot?  What do you know, how much
do you know, and why are you bothering about us?  The
Heathen Chinee was simple beside you, Tex Jones."

He coughed and turned to enter the station, but
stopped in his tracks as a possible solution came to him.
"I wonder, now," he cogitated, and fell into the
vernacular.  "She's a fine girl, sis is; but headstrong.  Cuss
it, if it ain't one thing it's another.  I don't even know
his name is Jones, or how many wives he may have.  Oh,
well: I'll have to wait and see how it heads."

Tex rode slowly down the street, very well satisfied
with himself.  He had warned the agent, owned a fine
horse that cost him nothing, and was going riding on the
morrow with a very interesting and pretty young woman.
Suddenly he took cognizance of a thought which had
been trying to get his attention for quite some time:
Where was Jake and what was he doing?

"I'm gettin' careless," he reproved himself.  "I ain't
seen my little playmate since I paralyzed his nerve
system.  He didn't act like a man who would go into
retirement with a thing like that tagged to him.  I reckon he's
plannin' a comeback: but a man like him usually acts
quicker.  All right, Jake: you take plenty of time an'
work it out well.  An' that's shore good advice."

There came a sudden yelping from the other side of
a near-by building, so high-pitched, continuous, and full
of agony that something moved along his spine.  He
reacted to the misery in the sound without giving it any
thought, and when he turned the corner of the store and
saw a chained dog being beaten by one of the town's
ne'er-do-wells his hand of its own volition loosened the
coiled rope at the saddle and swung it twice around his
head.  The soft lariat leaped through the air like a
striking snake, and as it dropped over its victim, the roan
instantly obeyed its training.

Jerked off his feet, his arms imprisoned at his sides,
the dog beater slid, rolled, and bumped along the ground,
at first too startled to protest.  Then his voice arose in
a stream of blasphemous inquiry, finishing with a petition.
Tex rode along without a backward glance, deeply
engrossed by some interesting problem and nearly had
reached Carney's saloon before he became conscious of
his surroundings.  A miner, cursing, leaped to the roan's
head and checked her, shouting profanely at the rider.

Tex checked the horse, looked curiously down at the
protestor and then, sensing the burden of the other's
remarks and becoming aware of the maledictions behind
him, turned languidly in the saddle and looked back in
time to see a dust-covered figure stagger to its feet and
throw off the slackened rope.

"Hey!" shouted Tex indignantly.  "What you doin'
with my rope?  Think it's worth th' price of a few
drinks, eh?  You drop it, *pronto*!  An' as for you, my
Christian friend," he said to the man at the roan's head,
"if you ever grab my cayuse like that again me an' you
are shore goin' to have an impolite little party all to
ourselves.  Drop that hackamore."

"You was killin' that man!" yelled the miner, loosening
his hold and showing fight.

"Well, what of it?" demanded Tex.  "Any man that
chains up a dog an' then beats it like he was, ain't got
no right to live.  If I don't kill him, somebody else will.
What you raisin' all th' hellabaloo about?"

"I reckon you ain't far from wrong," said the other,
by this time fully aware of the identity of the dog beater.
"I'm nat'rally for law an' order.  Whiskey Jim ain't
no good, I'm admittin'!"

"If yo're for law an' order you must be lonesome
associatin' all by yoreself in this squaw town," replied Tex,
grinning, but not for one moment losing sight of Whiskey
Jim, who at that moment was stooping to pick up a stone
lying against the corner of a building.  Tex sent a shot
over his head and the incident was closed.  "What do
you do for company?"

"I ain't hankerin' for none," answered the miner, smiling
grimly.  "I only come in for supplies, an' don't stay
long.  You a stranger here?"

"That's unkind; but, seein' as how I ain't as much a
stranger now as I was when I come, I won't hold it ag'in'
you.  Mebby I am gettin' to look like I belonged here."  He
laughed.  "I don't know very many, but everybody
knows me.  They point with pride when they see me
comin'; an' cock their guns behind their backs with their
other hand.  Where you located, friend?"

"Second fork on Buffaler Crick, th' first crick west of
town.  Quickest way is to foller th' track.  Be glad to
see you any time.  Mine's th' shack above Jake's."

"I envy you," replied Tex.  "See much of our mutual
friend?"

"Only when he wants to borry somethin'," grinned the
other.  "I see you got th' pick of Williams' animals
under yore saddle."

"I was lucky pickin', I admits," beamed Tex.  "Nice
feller, Williams."

"For them as likes him.  Well, friend, I'm mushin' on.
Name's Blascom."

"Tex Jones is my *nom du guerre*," replied Tex.  "Th'
north is a better country than this for minin'.  How'd
you ever come to leave it?"

Blascom looked at him questioningly.  "Yes, reckon it
is; but how'd you know I come from there?"

"They don't mush nowhere else that I know of,"
chuckled Tex.  He coiled the dusty lariat, shook it, and
brushed his chaps where it had touched, waved his
farewell; and went on to Carney's, where he dismounted and
went in.

"Just met Whiskey Jim," he said across the bar.

"I congratulate you."

"Who's he livin' on?"

"Th' whole town," answered Carney.  "He used to
hang around here, seein' what he could steal, but I kicked
his pants around his neckband an' he ain't favorin' me no
more.  Reckon he belongs to Williams."

"Then he must do somethin' for his keep," suggested
Tex.  "Our friend Gustavus Adolphus ain't no
philanthropist, I'm bettin'."

"No; Gus is a Republican," replied Carney.  "Whiskey
Jim used to ride for him, an' mebby Gus is scared not to
look after him a little."

Tex nodded.  "Good reason; good, plain, practical,
common-sense reason.  Now, Carney--I want a good
hoss for a lady, an' I'll have a little ride on it before I
turn it over.  Want it tomorrow mornin' at eight o'clock."

"Miss Saunders won't thank you much for tirin' it out."

"You couldn't help guessin' right th' first time,"
accused Tex.  "There ain't no other ladies that I've
seen or heard about.  What th' lady don't know won't
hurt her pride or spoil her appetite.  Cuss it, man; I
ain't aimin' to kill th' beast!"

"I reckon you know what yo're goin' to do with th'
hoss," replied Carney, thoughtfully; "but I wonder do
you know what yo're doin', goin' ridin' with that little
lady?"

Tex regarded him with level gaze.  "Meanin'?" he
coldly demanded.

"Meanin' that claim is staked, th' notices posted, an'
trespassers warned off; which is a d--d shame!"

"Hearsay ain't no good.  I ain't been formally notified
in writin'," replied Tex.  "Until I am, I act natural;
an' after I am, twice as natural, bein' mean by nature an'
disposition.  All of which reminds me that this is a
remarkable town, an' that there's a re-markable man in it."

His companion studied him for a moment.  "You
should keep yore hat on when yo're ridin' around in th'
sun.  Th' only remarkable thing about this town is that
it's still alive.  Th' only remarkable man in it has been
buried these last twenty years, up yonder on Boot Hill."

"I'm joinin' issue with you on that," replied Tex.
"Th' sense of loyalty an' affection of this town for its
leadin' citizen is a great an' beautiful thing for these
degenerate, money-mad days.  Parenthetically, I wonder
if there was ever a time when th' days were anythin'
else?  Why, everybody is his friend!  There's Jake, an'
th' nephew, Whiskey Jim, Tim Murphy, Jerry Saunders,
John Graves, Blascom, you, an' me.  I don't know any
more at this writin'.  An' that leadin' citizen, a man of
culture, wealth, and discernment, is our most esteemed
Mr. Gus Williams.  Hear!  Hear!"

"There's some names you can scratch, Carney among
'em," growled the saloonkeeper, spitting in violent
disgust.  "Yore touchin' paregoric near makes me weep.
an' I'm hard-shelled, like a clam.  Two-thirds of th'
people here do what he says, because he either scares or fools
'em.  Th' rest dassn't lynch him because they ain't strong
enough.  Wealth?  Shore.  He got most of it when th'
trail was in full swing.  His brands, an' he had a-plenty,
were copied from some on th' south ranges near th' old
trail.  A herd comin' up, grazin' wide, or passin' through
that scrub an' hill country would near certain pick up a
few local head on th' way, cattle bein' gregarious.
Whiskey Jim was th' local herd trimmer.  He'd throw
up a herd, claim any of th' stray brands as belongin'
around here.  He had th' authority an' th' drawin's of
them brands.  If it was a herd of Horseshoe an' Circle
Dots he claimed every other brand with them that was
found this side of th' Cimarron.  You know th' rules.
He got 'em.  Then there was stampedes, an' cattle run
off at night.  One time it got so bad that there was talk
of a third Texan Expedition to clean it up.  Only this
one would 'a' been for a different purpose than th' other two."

"You better keep off th' Texas Expedition," said Tex.
"That was a covered invasion for th' freedom of th' pore,
robbed, browbeaten New Mexicans; an' it come to a
terrible end."

"Not th' one I'm referrin' to," retorted Carney, his
face set and determined.  "Th' second one--that
plundered caravans on th' old Santa Fe.  I called this other
one th' third only because of th' number of men who
would have been in it, an' because it was a Texas idea.
But we'll not quarrel.  I had a good friend in th' second,
avengin' th' first."

"I won't quarrel about Texas," said Tex.  "Not bein'
a Texan, my withers are unwrung.  What did Williams
do in th' face of that threat?"

"Drifted his herds off before snow flew, to a distant
winter range an' let th' trail herds alone."

"That story ain't unusual," observed Tex.  "He's a
strange man.  Picks queer names for his hosses.  I never
heard such names.  Take my roan, now: his name is Oh
My Cayenne.  That's a devil of a name for anythin', let
alone a hoss.  Where'd he ever git it?"

Carney laughed.  "I'm agreein' with you, but he didn't
name th' roan.  That hoss was named by Windy Barrett,
when he was blind drunk.  Windy was a peculiar cuss;
allus spoutin' poetry an' such nonsense.  Read books
while he was line ridin'.  Well, he woke up one mornin'
after a spree in Williams' stable.  As he turned his head
to see where he was, th' roan, then a colt, poked its nose
over th' stall an' nuzzled him.  One of th' boys was just
goin' in th' stable an' saw th' whole thing.  Windy pushes
th' hoss away an' says, sadlike: 'Yo're dead wrong, Oh
My Cayenne; it don't banish th' sorrers with its whirlwind
sword.'  Th' boys thought it was such a good joke
they let th' name stick."

Tex looked dubious.  "Mebby they thought so, but I'm
not admittin' that I do; an' it's no joke for any cayuse
to have a name like that.  There goes Bud Haines, ridin'
out of town: he ain't earnin' his pay.  Well, reckon I'll
drift up an' see Williams.  I allus like to be sociable.
So-long."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`WEIGHTS AND MEASURES`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center medium bold

   WEIGHTS AND MEASURES

.. vspace:: 2

The proprietor of the general store glanced out of
the window as the roan stopped before his door,
and he frankly frowned at Tex's entry.

"Ain't no letters come for no Joneses," he said
brusquely.

"Hope springs eternal," replied Tex.  He sauntered up
to the counter and was about to turn and lean against
it when his roving glance passed along a line of
wide-necked bottles.  They looked strangely familiar and he
glanced at them again.  A label caught his eye.  "Chloral
Hydrate" he read silently.  He looked at Williams and
chuckled.  "I don't claim to be no Injun, but just th'
same I got a lot of patience when it comes to waitin'.
Looks like I'm goin' to need it, far as that letter is
concerned."  He looked along the walls of the store.  "You
shore carry a big stock for a town like this, Mr. Williams,"
he complimented, his eyes again viewing the line
of bottles with a sweeping glance.  "Strychnine," he
read to himself, nodding with understanding.  "Shore,
for wolves an' coyotes.  Quinine, Aloes, Capsicum,
Laudanum--quite a collection for a general store.  Takes
me back a good many years."  Aloud he said.  "I was
admirin' that there pipe, an' I've got to have it; but
that ain't what I'm lookin' so hard for."  Again he
searched shelves, up and down, left and right, and shook
his head.  "Don't see 'em," he complained.  His mind
flashed back to one word, and his medical training
prompted him.  "Chloral hydrate--safe in the right
hands and very efficient.  Ought to be tasteless in the
vile whiskey they sell out here.  You never can tell, an'
I might need every aid."  He shook his head again,
and again spoke aloud.  "Too bad, cuss it."

"If you wasn't so cussed secret about it I might be
able to help you find what yo're lookin' for," growled
Williams.  "Bein' th' proprietor I know a couple of
things that are in this store.  Yore article might be
among 'em."

"I'm loco," admitted Tex.  "What I want is some
center-fire .38 shorts.  Couple of boxes will be enough."

Williams flashed a look at the walnut handle of the
heavy Colt at his customer's thigh.  He could see that
it was no .38.  Suspicion prompted him and he
wondered if his companion was a two-gun man, with
only one of them being openly worn.  Such a
combination was not a rarity.  A gun in a shoulder
holster or a derringer on an elastic up a sleeve might
well use such a cartridge.  This would be well to
speak to Bud Haines about.

"You would 'a' saved yore valuable time, an' mine,
if you'd said so when you first come in," ironically
replied Williams.  "Got plenty of .45's, quite some
.44's, less .41's, and a few .38's in th' long cat'ridges.
I ain't got no .38 shorts, nor .32's, nor .22's, nor no
putty for putty blowers.  Folks around these diggin's
as totes guns mostly wants 'em man-size."

"I reckon so," agreed Tex pleasantly.  "Don't
blame 'em.  Failin' in th' other qualifications they'd
naturally do th' best they could to make up for them
they lacked.  I'm shore sorry you ain't got 'em
because my rifle cat'ridges are runnin' low.  That's what
comes of havin' to buy a gun that don't eat regulation
food.  It was th' only one he had, an' I had to take
it quick, bein' pressed hard at th' time.  Time, tide,
an' posses wait for no man.  Yo're dead shore you
ain't got 'em, huh?"

"Well, lemme see," cogitated the proprietor,
scratching his head.  "I did have some--they sent
me some shorts by mistake an' I never took th' time
to send 'em back.  You wait till I look."

"Then you've got 'em now," said Tex.  "You
never could sell 'em in these diggin's, where folks
as totes guns mostly wants 'em man-size.  I'll wait
till you see."  He idly watched the scowling
proprietor as he went behind the counter and dropped
to one knee, his back to his customer.  As he started
to pull boxes from against the wall Tex silently sat
on the counter as if better to watch him.

Williams was talking more to himself than to Tex,
intent on trying to remember what he had done with
the shorts, and save himself a protracted search.
"Kept 'em with th' rest of th' cat'ridges till I got mad
from nearly allus takin' 'em down for longs.  I think
mebby I put 'em about here."

Tex leaned swiftly backward, his hand leaping to
one of the wide-mouthed bottles on the shelf.  "They
shore are a nuisance," he said in deep sympathy.

"I allus have more or less trouble gettin' 'em," he
admitted, his hands working silently and swiftly with
the cork.  "Didn't hardly hope to get 'em here," he
confessed as he swung back and replaced the depleted
bottle.  He assumed an erect position again, one hand
resting in a coat pocket.  "Shore sorry to put you to
all this trouble," he apologized; "but if you got 'em
you are lucky to git rid of 'em, in this town."

Williams turned his head, saw his customer
perilously balanced on the edge of the counter, and
watching him with great interest.  "I can find 'em
if they're here, Mr. Jones," he growled.  "You might
strain yore back, leanin' that way--yep, here they
are, four boxes of 'em.  Only want two?"

"Reckon I better take all I can git my han's on,"
answered Tex.  "No tellin' where I can git any more,
they're that scarce."

"Yore rifle looks purty big an' heavy for these,"
observed Williams, craning his neck in vain to catch
a glimpse of it.  It lay on the other side of the horse.
"Yes, it's one of them *sängerbund*, or shootin'-fest
guns," replied Tex.  "Made for German target clubs,
back in th' East.  Got fine sights, an' is heavy so it
won't tremble none.  Two triggers, one settin' th'
other for hair-trigger pullin'.  Cost me fifty-odd.
Don't bother to tie 'em up; they carry easier if they
ain't all in one pocket.  Don't forget that pipe."

Williams did some laborious figuring.  "I see
yo're gettin' acquainted fast," he remarked, pushing
the change across the counter.  "Them Saunders
are real interestin'."

"Oh, so-so," grunted Tex.  "Tenderfeet allus are.
But I reckon she'll make yore nepphey a good wife.
Seems to be real sensible, an' she shore can cook!"

"Hennery is a fortunate boy," replied Williams
complacently, so complacently that Tex itched to
punch him.  "He'll make her a good husban', bein'
nat'rally domestic an' affectionate.  An' he's so sot
on it that I'm near as much interested in their
courtship as they are.  I shore would send anybody to
dance in h--l as interfered with it.  Gettin' cooler
out?"

"Warmer out, an' in," answered Tex.  "Well, they
ought to be real happy, bein' young an' both near th'
same age.  I'm sayin' age is more important than
most folks admit.  Me an' you, now, would be makin'
a terrible mistake if *we* married a woman as young
as she is.  We got too much sense.  An' I'm free to
admit that I'm rope shy--don't like hobbles of any
kind, a-tall.  I'm a maverick, an' aim to stay so.
When is th' weddin' comin' off?"

"Purty soon, I reckon," replied Williams, his voice
pleasanter than it had been since Tex had appeared
in town.  "She's nat'rally a little skittish, an' Hennery
is sort of shy.  Young folks usually are.  He was
tellin' me you gave him some good advice."

Tex laughed and shrugged his shoulders.  "Don't
know how good it is," he replied.  "An' it wasn't no
advice.  I just sort of mentioned to him somethin'
I found worked real well; but what works with one
woman ain't got no call to get stuck on itself--th'
odds ain't in favor of its repeatin'.  If it was me,
howsomever, I'd shore try it a whirl.  It can't do no
harm that I can see."

"He's goin' to back it a little," responded Williams,
"till he sees how it goes."

"A little ain't no good, a-tall," replied Tex.  "It
might not show any results for awhile, an' then work
fast an' sudden.  Well, see you later mebby.  This
cayuse of mine needs some exercise.  So-long."

Williams followed him to the door, hoping for a
glimpse of the German shooting-club rifle, but Tex
mounted and rode away without turning that side of
the horse toward the store.

His next stop was the hotel, where he had a few
sandwiches put up for him and then he left town,
heading for Buffalo Creek.  He had no particular
object in choosing that direction, the main thing being
to get out of town and to stay out of sight until after
dark.  As he rode he cogitated:

"Chloral hydrate.  Twenty to thirty grains is the
dose soporific.  Yes; that's right.  In a hydrous
crystal of this nature that would just about
fill--what?"  He rode on, oblivious to his surroundings,
trying to picture the size of a container that would
hold the required weight of crystals.  "In our
rough-and-ready weights a silver half-dime was twenty
grains; a three-cent piece was forty grains, and I
think my three-cent silver piece of '51 weighed ten
grains.  But not havin' any of 'em now, all that does
me no good.  Shucks--there's plenty of miners'
scales in this country.  Bet Blascom has one that'll
help me out: an' a grain is a grain, all th' way
through."  He hitched up his heavily loaded belt and
as his hand came into contact with the ends of the
cartridges he chuckled and slapped the horse in
congratulation.

"Omar, we're gettin' close.  Bet a .45 shell will hold
the dose.  However, not wantin' to kill nobody, we'd
better make shore.  Yo're a willin' cayuse, an' I like
yore gait: suppose you let it out a little?  We got
business ahead."

When he came to the dried bed of a creek he followed
it at a distance and had not gone far before he
espied the first fork.  On the north side of the gully
was a miserable hut.  "That must be Jake's: we'll
detour so he won't see us."  Twenty minutes later
he came to the second fork and a second hut, not
much better than the first.  A familiar figure was
just emerging from it, and soon Tex rode down the
steep bank and hailed.

The prospector looked up and waved, turning to
face his visitor.  "Glad to see you," he called.  "Hope
Whiskey Jim ain't run you out of town."

"He might if he kept close to me, up wind," laughed
Tex.  "Busy doin' nothin'?"

"Busy as a hibernatin' bear.  Git off an' come in
th' house, where th' sun ain't so hot.  An' I reckon
yo're thirsty."

Tex accepted the invitation and found a box to
sit on.  The interior of the shack was not out of
keeping with the exterior, and it was none too clean.
His roving glances saw and passed the gold scales,
two metal cups hanging by three threads each from
a slender, double-taper bar.  Beside it was a tin
box which he guessed contained weights.

"Washin' out lots of gold, Blascom?" asked Tex,
smiling.

"Can't even wash my face without totin' water, or
goin' up to th' sump.  Th' crick's like it is out there
for as far up as I've been.  If it wasn't for a sump
I've dug in a sandy place in its bed I'd had no water
at all."  He reached into his pocket and produced
several bits of gold, none of them much larger than
a grain of wheat.  "Found these when I was gettin'
water just now.  That sump's goin' to go deeper
right quick, 'though I'm scared I'll lose my water."

"What'll they weigh?" asked Tex curiously,
handing them back.

"About a pennyweight, I reckon," replied Blascom.

Tex shook his head.  "Not them.  You've got too
trustin' a nature.  Yo're too hopeful: but I reckon
that's what makes miners."

Blascom arose, dropped the flecks into a scale pan
and dug around in the tin box.  There was a metallic
clink and the two pans slowly sought the same level.
"Couple of grains under," he announced.  "About
twenty-two, I'd say.  That's close figgerin', close
enough for a guess."

"Cussed good," complimented Tex as the prospector
put back the weights and dumped the gold out
into his hand.  "I ain't never dug out no hunks of
gold an' I'm curious.  If you aim to put that sump
down farther I'm just itchin' to give you a hand.
Come on--what you say?"

"You'd be a mess, sloppin' around with me,"
laughed Blascom.  He shook his head.  "Better set
down an' watch me, lendin' yore valuable advice;
or stay here an' keep out of th' sun."

"I can do that in town."

Blascom considered, looking dubiously at his guest's
clothes.  "Here," he said, finally.  "You can help
me more by carryin' water an' fillin' up everythin' in
here that'll hold it.  After I get through wrastlin'
with a pan in that sump th' water won't be fit to drink
before mornin'.  That suit you?"

"Good enough," declared Tex, arising and picking
up the buckets.  "Come on: reveal yore gold mine.
I'm a first-class claim jumper.  You had yore dinner yet?"

Blascom shook his head, picked up a shovel and
his gold pan and led the way.  "That can wait.  It
ain't often I have any free help forced on me an' I'd
be a sucker to let an empty belly cut in."

"I can cook, too," said Tex.  "After I fill th' hut
with water I'll get you a meal that'll make you glad
yo're livin'; but you got to come after it to eat it;
an' when I yell, you come a-runnin'.  If you don't
I'll eat it myself."

The sump lay about a hundred yards up the creek
bed, around a bend which was covered with a thin
growth of sickly willows and box elders.  It was a
hole about two feet square, the sandy sides held up
by a cribwork of sticks, pieces of boxes, and barrel
staves.  Blascom dipped both pails in and started
back with them.

"Wait a minute," objected Tex, reaching for them.
"Thought you was goin' after nuggets while I toted
th' water?"

"I thought so, too," answered Blascom, "till I had
sense enough to think that I couldn't go rammin'
around in there with my shovel until after th' water
was saved.  You can carry 'em th' next trip.  Sit
down an' do th' gruntin' for me, this time.  A dozen
buckets will empty her, almost."

Tex shrugged his shoulders and obeyed, rolled a
cigarette, and then plucked a .45 from its belt loop.
Wiping off the grease, he placed his thumb against
the lead and pushed, turning the cartridge slowly
as he worked.  When he heard Blascom's heavy,
careless tread nearing the bend he slipped the
loosened cartridge into his vest pocket and lazily
arose.

"There ain't nothin' else to fill but these here
buckets," said the prospector as he appeared.  Filling
them again he passed them to Tex and reached for
the shovel and the gold pan.  "There's beans you
can warm up, an' some bacon.  There's also some
sour-doughs.  Make a good pot of coffee an' yell
when yo're ready.  I'm surprised at th' way this hole's
fillin' up, but I ain't mindin' that.  As long as I dump
it close by it's bound to get back again."

Tex picked up the buckets and departed clumsily,
his high-heeled boots not aiding his progress.  Reaching
the house he set down his load and wheeled swiftly
toward the swaying balance.  The pennyweight disk
slid into one pan as his other hand brought from his
pocket a generous quantity of the whitish, translucent
crystals.  Sniffing them, he smiled grimly and then
nodded as the biting odor gripped his nostrils.  He
let them drop slowly into the other pan and when the
balance was struck he added one more crystal and
put the rest back into his pocket.  Glancing around
the hut he saw a torn, discarded pamphlet in a corner
and he removed some of the inner sheets.  When
he had finished weighing and wrapping he had a
dozen little packages of more than twenty-four, and
less than thirty, grains.  Wiping out the little tray
he replaced the weight, drank deeply from a bucket
and then started a fire in the home-made rock-and-clay
stove.  While it caught he went out, picked up
some clean pebbles and returned to the scales, soon
selecting the pebble that weighed the same as his
powders.  He might have use for it sometime in the
future.  Taking another piece of paper he emptied
into it the rest of the crystals from his pocket and,
sorting out pieces of thickened lint and bits of tobacco,
wrapped the chloral up securely.  Then he got busy
with the meal and when the coffee was ready he
went to the door and shouted the old bunkhouse
classic: "Come an' get it!"

Blascom soon appeared, his clothing wet and sandy,
and in his hand were several rice grains of gold with
quite some dust.  "Looks fair to me," he said.  "I
can't hardly tell what I'm doin', th' sump fills up so
fast, an' th' sand is washed in with th' water, fillin'
it up from th' bottom as fast as I can dig it out an'
pan it.  I can't understand where all that water comes
from.  I know there's cussed little of it further down
th' crick bed.  When she dried up I nat'rally wanted
a sump nearer th' hut, but I couldn't get one nearer
than I have.  Must be a spring somewhere under it."  He
sniffed cheerfully.  "That coffee shore smells
good," he declared, going out to wash his hands.

The meal was eaten rapidly, without much talking,
but when it was finished Blascom packed his pipe
and passed the pouch to his companion.  "New
pipe?" he asked.  "Then wet yore finger an' rub it
around in th' bowl before you light her.  You don't
want a job cookin', do you?  I never drunk better
coffee."

The new pipe going well, Tex leaned back and
smiled.  "I'll cook th' supper if you want.  I ain't
anxious to get back to town before dark.  An' I'll
put on them old clothes over there an' help you at
th' sump th' rest of th' day.  Let's get goin'."

"All right; it's a two-man job with that water
comin' in so fast," answered the prospector.  "We'll
not do any pannin'--just get th' sand out an' dump
it up on th' bank, out of th' way of high water.  I
can pan it any time.  You see, this dry spell is due
to end 'most any time, an' when it does it'll be a
reg'lar cloud-burst.  That'll mean no more placerin'
near th' sump.  Ever see these creek beds after a
cloud-burst?  They're full from bank to bank an'
runnin' like bullets."

Tex nodded and looked steadily out of the door,
his mind going back some years and vividly presenting
an arroyo and the great, sheer wall of water
which swept down it on the day when he and his
then enemy, Hopalong Cassidy, were fighting it out
in the brush.  His eyes glowed as the details returned
to him and went past in orderly array.  From that
sudden and unexpected danger, and the impulsive
chivalry of the man who had had him at the mercy
of an inspired six-gun, had come his redemption.

"Yes," he said slowly.  "I've seen 'em.  They're
deadly when they catch a man unawares."  He drew
a deep breath and returned to the main subject.
"Why don't you hire somebody, Jake for instance,
an' clean up that sump as quick as you can?"

"An' have a knife in my back?" exclaimed Blascom,
"or be killed in my sleep?  I don't know much about
Jake, but what little I do know about him, th' less he,
or any of th' fellers in town know about that sump,
th' better I'll like it.  There ain't one I'd trust, an'
most of 'em are busted an' plumb desperate.  I've
been pannin' a lot better than fair day's wages out
here, but I'm doin' without everythin' that I can
because I dassn't look so prosperous.  Let me show
much dust in town an' I'd be raided an' jumped th'
same night.  They're like a pack of starvin' coyotes.
I don't even keep my dust in this shack.  I cache it
outside at night."

"Suppose you was to buy things in town with coin
or bills, lettin' on that it is yore bedrock reserve that
yo're livin' on," suggested Tex.  "That ought to
help some."

"But I ain't got 'em," objected Blascom.  "Got
nothin' but raw gold."

Tex laughed and dug down into his pocket.  "That's
easy solved.  Here," he said, bringing up a handful
of double eagles.  "Gold weighs as much in one shape
as it does in another--even less, bulk for bulk, without
th' alloy.  I'll change with you if you want."  Then
he drew back his hand and grinned quizzically.  "It's
allus well to think of th' little things.  It might be
better if we didn't swap.  You fellers ain't likely to
have a currency reserve: more likely to have it just
as you dug it out.  That right?"

Blascom nodded.  "Yes; 'though I knowed a feller
that allus carried big bills in place of gold when
he could get 'em, an' when he wasn't broke.  They
weighed a lot less.  Raw gold would be better, out
here."

"All right; how'd you like to drop into th' hotel
about eleven tonight an' win heavy from me in a
two-hand game of draw?  Say as much as we can fix
up?  How much you want to change?  Couple of
hundred?" He chuckled.  "We can fix it either way:
raw gold or currency."

"Make it raw gold, then; better yet, mix it," said
Blascom, arising, his face wrinkled with pleasure.
He nodded swiftly.  "Be back in a minute," and he
went out.  When he returned he went into a corner
where he could not be seen by anyone passing the
hut and took several sacks from his pocket.  It did
not take him long to weigh their contents and, calling
his visitor over to verify the weights and the cleanness
of the gold, he put the odd gold back into a sack
and handed the other to his companion.

"Two hundred even," he said.  "Keep yore money
till I take it away from you tonight.  Much obliged
to you, Jones."

"How do you know I'll be there?" asked Tex,
smiling.  "I got th' gold an' a cussed good cayuse.
With such a good start it'll be easy."

Blascom chuckled and shrugged his shoulders.
"Yore little game with Whiskey Jim an' your soiree
with Jake tell me different," he answered.  "I've
rubbed elbows with all sorts of men for forty-odd
years--ever since I was a boy of sixteen.  A man's
got to back his best judgment: an' I'm backin' mine.
If I wasn't shore about you do you reckon I'd be tellin'
you anythin' about that sump?  Now then: what you
say about settin' here an' takin' things easy for th'
rest of th' day?  I don't want you to get all mucked up."

Tex arose, took the boxes of .38 shorts out of his
pockets and lay them on a shelf.  He put the heavy
little sacks in their places and turned.  "It'll do me
good; an' I might learn somethin' useful," he said.
"A man can't never learn too much.  Come on; we'll
tackle that sump."  As he changed his clothes for
those of his host the latter's words of confidence in
him set him thinking.  To his mind came scenes of
long ago.  "Deacon" Rankin, "Slippery" Trendley,
"Slim" Travennes, and others of that savage,
murderous, vulture class returned on his mental canvas.
Of the worst class in the great West they had stood
in the first rank; and at one time he had stood with
them, shoulder to shoulder, had deliberately chosen
them for his friends and companions, and in many
of their villainies he had played his minor parts.  He
stirred into renewed activity and dressed rapidly.
Changing the gold sacks into the clothes he now wore
and putting on his host's extra pair of boots, he
stepped toward the door and then thought of Jake,
who reminded him somewhat of his former friends,
lacking only their intelligence.  He turned and swept
up his gun and belt, buckling it around him as he left
the shack to help his new friend.





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.. _`AFTER DARK`:

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   CHAPTER VIII


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   AFTER DARK

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Murphy's blocked-up box car was dark and
showed no signs of life, making only a blacker
spot in the night.  To any prowler who might have
investigated its externals, the raised shades and the closed
door would have left him undecided as to whether or not
its tenant was within; but the closed windows on such a
night as this would have suggested that he was not, for
the baked earth radiated heat and the walls of the modest
habitation were still warm to the touch.  Inside the closed
car the heat must have been well-nigh intolerable.

The silence was natural and unbroken.  The brilliant
stars seemed rather to accentuate the darkness than to
relieve it.  An occasional breath of heated air furtively
rustled the tufts of drought-killed grass, but brought
no relief to man or beast; but somewhere along the
branch line a stronger wind was blowing, if the
humming of the telegraph wires meant anything.  In the
west gleamed a single glowing eye of yellow-white, where
the switch light told that the line was open.  To the right
of it blotches of more diffused and weaker radiance
outlined the windows and doors of the straggling
buildings facing the right-of-way.  An occasional burst of
laughter or a snatch of riotous song came from them,
mercifully tempered and mellowed by the distance.  From
the east arose the long-drawn vocal atrocity of some
mournful coyote who could not wait for the rising of
the crescent moon to give him his cue.  Infrequent
metallic complaints told of the contraction of the
heat-stretched rails.

In the south appeared a swaying thickening of the
darkness, an elongated concentration of black opacity.
Gradually it took on a more definite outline as its upper
parts more and more became silhouetted against a sky of
slightly different tone and intensity.  First a moving cone,
then a saucer-like rim, followed slowly by a sudden
contraction and a further widening.  Hat, head, and
shoulders loomed up vaguely, followed by the longer bulkiness
of the body.

This apparition moved slowly and silently toward
the rectangular blot at the edge of the right-of-way,
advancing in a manner suggesting questionable motives, and
it paused frequently to peer into the surrounding void,
and to listen.  After several of these cautious waits it
reached the old car, against whose side it stood out a
little more distinctly by contrast.  The gently rolling
tattoo of finger nails on wood could scarcely be heard a
dozen feet away and ceased before critical analysis would
be able to classify it.  Half a minute passed and it rolled
out again, a little louder and more imperative.  Another
wait, and then came a flat clack as a tossed pebble bounced
from the wall at the waiter's side.  Its effect was magical.
The figure wheeled, crouched, and a hand spasmodically
leaped hip high, a soft, dull gleam tipping it.  While one
might slowly count ten its rigid posture was maintained
and then a rustling not far from the door drew its
instant attention.

"What ye want?" demanded a low, curious voice.  "If
it's Murphy, he's sleepin' out, this night av h--l."

The figure at the door relaxed, grew instantly taller
and thinner and a chuckle answered the query of the
section-boss.  "Don't blame you," it softly said, and
moved quietly toward the owner of the car.

"To yer left," corrected the Irishman.  "Who's wantin'
Murphy at this time av night, an' for what?"

"Yore fellow-conspirator," answered Tex, sinking
down on the blanket of his companion.  "Didn't Jerry
tell you to expect me?"

"Yes, he did; but I wasn't shore it was you," replied
Murphy.  "So I acted natural.  Th' house is past endurin'
with th' winders an' door closed; an' not knowin' what
ye might have to talk about I naturally distrusted th'
walls.  This whole town has ears.  Out here in th' open
a man will have more trouble fillin' his ear with other
people's business.  How are ye?"

"Hot, an' close," chuckled Tex.  "Also curious an'
lonesome."  He crossed his legs tailor fashion, and then
seemed to weigh something in his mind, for after a
moment he changed and lay on his stomach and elbows.
"I don't stick up so plain, this way," he explained.

"I hear ye trimmed old Frowsyhead at poker," said
Murphy, "an' won a good hoss.  Beats all how a man
wants to smoke when he shouldn't.  Have a chew?"

"I'll own to that vice in a limited degree and under
certain conditions," admitted Tex, taking the huge plug.
"An' I'll confess that to my way of thinkin' it's th' only
way to get th' full flavor of th' leaf; but I ain't sayin' it's
th' neatest."

"'Tis fine trainin' for th' eye," replied Murphy, the
twinkle in his own hidden by the night.

"An' develops amazin' judgment of distance," supplemented
Tex, chuckling.  "There's some I'd like to try
it on--Hennery Williams, for instance."

"Aye," growled Murphy in hearty accord.  "He'll
be lucky if he ain't hit by somethin' solider than tobaccy
juice.  I fair itch to twist his skinny neck."

"A most praiseworthy longing," rejoined Tex, a
sudden sharpness in his voice.  "How long has he been
deservin' such a reward?"

"Since *she* first came here," growled his companion.
"That was why I wanted Mike Costigan to get his family
out av th' way, for I'm tellin' ye flat, Costigans or no
Costigans, that little miss will be a widder on her weddin'
day, if it gets that far.  Th' d--d blackguard!  I've kept
me hand hid, for 'tis a true sayin' that forewarned is
forearmed.  They'll have no reason to watch me close,
an' then it'll be too late.  Call it murder if ye will, but
I'll be proud av it."

"Hardly murder," murmured Tex.  "Not even homicide,
which is a combination of Latin words meanin' th'
killin' of a human bein'.  To flatter th' noble Hennery a
little, I'd go so far as to admit it might reach th' dignity
of vermicide.  An' no honest man should find fault with
th' killin' of a worm.  Th' Costigans should be persuaded
to move."

"Ye try it," grunted Murphy sententiously.  "Can ye
dodge quick?"

"Nobody ever justly accused me of tryin' to dodge a
woman," said Tex.  "There must be a way to get around
her determination."

"Yes?" queried Murphy, the inflection of the monosyllable
leaving nothing to be learned but the harrowing
details.

"Coax her to go to Willow," persisted Tex.

"She don't like th' town."

"Yore inference is shore misleadin'," commented Tex.
"I'd take it from that that she does like Windsor."

"Divvil a bit; but she stays where Mike is."

"Then you've got to shift Mike.  There's not enough
work here for a good man like Costigan," suggested Tex.

"Yer like a dog chasin' his tail.  Costigan stays where
th' lass an' her brother are."

"Huh!  Damon an' Pythias was only a dual combination,"
muttered the puncher.  "Cussed if there ain't
somethin' in th' world, after all, that justifies Nature's
labors."

"An'," went on Murphy as though he had not been
interrupted, "th' lass sticks to her brother, an' he stays
where he's put.  He's not strong an' he has a livin' to
make for two.  Ye can take yer change out av that,
Mr. Tex Jones."

Tex grunted pessimistically.  "Well, anyhow," he
said, brightening a little, "mebby Miss Saunders won't
be pestered for a little while by Hennery--an' then
we'll see what we see.  I'm unlucky these days: I'm allus
with th' under dog," and he went on to tell his
companion of his suggestions to the nephew.

"'Tis proud av ye I am," responded Murphy.  "May
th' saints be praised for th' rest she'll be gettin'.  We can
all av us breathe deep for a little while; an' meanwhile
I'll be tryin' my strength with Lefferts, th' boss at th'
Junction.  I've hated to leave town even that long, but
now I can make th' run; 'though I know it will do no
good.  Ye'll be stayin' in town tomorry?"

"Why, no; I'm goin' ridin' with Miss Saunders," and
Tex explained that, to his companion's admiration and
delight.

"It'll be a pleasure for her to be able to leave th' house
without bein' tagged after by that scut," said the
section-boss.  "Yer a bye with a head.  An' I see where ye not
only get th' suspicions av that Tommy lad, but run afoul
of that Henry an' his precious uncle.  Haven't ye been
warned yet?"  The gleam of hope in his eyes was hidden
by the darkness.  "Ye'll mebby have trouble with th'
last two--an' if ye do, keep an eye on Bud Haines.
Ye'll do well to watch him, anyhow.  Why don't ye slip
out quiet-like, straight southwest from her house?  Less
chance av bein' seen; but a mighty slim one.  They've
eyes all over town."

"We are shore to be seen," quietly responded Tex.  "If
we sneak out it will justify their suspicions.  I don't want
to do that.  I'm aimin' to ride plumb down th' main
street, through th' middle of town, an' pay Tommy a
little visit out at his ranch.  *There is no shuffling, there
th' action lies in his true nature*.  Like Caesar's wife, you
know.  An', by th' way, Tim: we have some friends in
town, an' I'm addin' an ally from Buffalo Crick.  Time
works for us."  He paused and then asked, curiously:
"Who is our friend Bud Haines, an' what does he do
for a livin'?  I've my suspicions, but I'd rather be shore."

Murphy swore softly under his breath.  "He used to
ride for Williams till he earned a reputation as a
first-class gunman; but now he follows old Frowsyhead
around like a shadder.  Cold blooded, like th' rattlesnake
he is; a natural-born killer.  They say he's chain
lightnin' on th' draw."

"I've heard that said of better men than him; some
of them now dead," said Tex.  "Must be a pleasant sort
of a chap."  He cogitated a bit.  "An' how long has he
been playin' shadow to friend Williams?  Since I come
to town, or before?" he asked as casually as he could,
but tensely awaited the answer.

"Couple av years," answered Murphy; "an' mebby
longer."  He tried to peer through the darkness.  "Was
ye thinkin' ye made th' job for him?"

"Well, hardly," replied Tex.  "I'm naturally conceited,
suspicious, and allus lookin' out for myself.  Th'
thought just happened to hit me."

Their conversation began to ramble to subjects foreign
to Windsor and its inhabitants, and after a little while
Tex arose to leave.  He melted out of sight into the night
and half an hour later rode into town from the west,
along the railroad, and soon stopped before the hotel.

The customary poker game was in full swing and he
nodded to the players, received a civil greeting from Gus
Williams, and after a short, polite pause at the table,
wandered over to the bar, where Blascom leaned in black
despondency.

"How'd'y," said Tex affably.  "Fine night, but hot,
an' close."

"Fine, h--l!" growled Blascom, sullenly looking up.
"Not meanin' you no offense, stranger," he hastily added.
"I'm grouchy tonight," he explained.

"Why, what's th' trouble?" asked Tex after swift
scrutiny of the other's countenance.  "Barkeep, give us
two drinks, over yonder," and he led his companion to
the table.  "No luck?"

Blascom growled an oath.  "None at all.  My stake's
run out, all but this last bag," and he slammed it viciously
onto the table.  "Th' claim's showin' nothin'."  He
scowled at the bag and then, avarice in his eyes and
desperation in his voice, he looked up into the face opposite
him.  "This is next to no good: I'll double it, or lose it.
What you say to a two-hand game?"

Tex looked a little suspicious.  "I don't usually play
for that much, rightaway, ag'in' strangers."  He looked
around the room and flushed slightly at the knowing
smiles and sarcastic grins.  "Oh, I don't care," he
asserted, swaggering a little.  "Come on; I'll go you.
Deck of cards, friend," he called to the dispenser of
drinks, and almost at the words they were sailing
through the air toward his hands.  "You've got as much
chance as I have; an' if I don't win it, somebody else will.
Draw, I reckon?" he asked nervously.  "All right; low
deals," and the game was on.

Blascom won the first hand, Tex the second.  For
the better part of an hour it was an up-and-down affair,
the ups for Tex not enough to offset the downs.  Finally,
with a big pot at stake he pressed the betting on the
theory that his opponent was bluffing.  Suddenly becoming
doubtful, he let a palpable fear master him, refused
to see the raise, and slammed his hand down on the table
with a curse.  Blascom laughed, grandiloquently spread
a four-card flush under his adversary's nose, and raked
in his winnings.

"Shuffle 'em up."  chuckled the prospector.  "Things
are lookin' better."

Glancing from the worthless hand into Blascom's
exultant face Tex kicked the chair from in under him,
arose and went to the bar where he gulped his drink,
glanced sullenly around the room, and strode angrily to
the stairs to go to his room.  Wide and mocking grins
followed him until he was hidden from sight, the
expressions on the faces of Williams and his nephew
transcending the others.

The prospector gleefully pocketed the money and dust,
sighed with relief and swaggered over to the other table,
one thumb hooked in an armhole of his vest.  He stopped
near Williams and beamed at the players, patting his
pocket, but saying nothing until the hand had been played
and the cards were being scooped up for a new deal.

"Williams," he said, laughing, "my supplies are
cussed low, but now that I can pay for what I want I'm
comin' in tomorrow mornin' an' carry off 'most all yore
grub."

The storekeeper had glanced meaningly at one of the
players and now he lazily looked up, his face trying to
express pleasure and congratulation.  The man he had
glanced at arose, yawned and stretched, mumbled
something about being tired and out of luck and pushed back
his chair.  As he slouched away from the table he turned
the chair invitingly and nodded to Blascom.

"Take my place; I'm goin' to turn in soon," he said.

"Why, shore," endorsed Williams.  "Set in for a
hand or two, Blascom.  It's early yet, too early to head
for yore cabin.  This game's been draggin' all evenin';
mebby it'll move faster if a new man sets in."  Waiting a
moment for an answer and none being forthcoming, he
leaned back and stretched his arms.  "How you makin'
out on th' crick--bad?"

"Couldn't be much worse," answered the prospector,
his face becoming grave.  "I can't do much without
water, an' th' only water I got is a sump for drinkin' an'
cookin' purposes.  You know that I ain't th' one to put
up no holler as long as I'm gettin' day wages out of it;
but when I can't make enough to pay my way, then I
can't help gettin' a little mite blue."

"We all have our trials," replied Williams.  He waved
his hand toward the vacant chair.  "Better set in for a
little while.  You've had good luck tonight: give it its
head while it's runnin' yore way.  Besides, a little fun an'
company will shore cheer you up.  You ain't got no
reason to be hot-footin' off to yore cabin so early in th'
evenin'."

The prospector smilingly shook his head.  "I ain't
needin' no cheerin' now," he asserted, again slapping the
pocket.  "I got a little stake that'll let me stick it out
till we get rain.  I got too much faith in that claim to
clear out an' leave it; but now I got still more faith in
my luck.  It broke for me tonight an' I'm bettin' it's th'
turnin' point; an' if a man ain't willin' to meet a turn of
good luck at sunrise, with a smile, he shore don't deserve
it.  At sunup I'll be in that crick bed with a shovel in my
hand, ready to go to work.  I've been busted before;
more'n once; but I don't seem to get used to it, at all.
Well, good luck, everybody, an' good night," and he
turned and strode briskly toward the door and
disappeared into the darkness.

Williams looked disappointed and cautiously pushed
the substitute deck farther back in its little slot under the
table.  Looking around, he beckoned to the unselfish
player and motioned for him to resume his seat.  The
lamb having departed, the regular friendly game for small
stakes would now go on again.

"You fellers heard what I said about sand, th' very
first night that Jones feller showed up," remarked
Williams, chuckling.  "I'm sayin' it ag'in: he figgered
Blascom was bluffin', played that way until th' stakes got high
an' then got scared out an' quit.  Quit cold without even
feedin' in a few more dollars to see th' hand.  Left th'
table in a rage just because he lost a hundred or two.  I
was watchin' him as much as I could, an' I could see he
was gettin' madder an' madder, nervouser an' nervouser
all th' time; an' when a man gets like that he can't play
poker good enough to keep warm in h--l.  He ain't no
poker player; an' as soon as I can buffalo him into a
good, stiff game, I'll show you he ain't!"

He paused and looked around knowingly.  "He didn't
win that roan.  I just sorta loaned it to him.  Might have
to bait him ag'in, too; but before he leaves this town I'll
git it back, with all he's got to-boot.  There ain't no call
for nobody to start yappin' around about what I'm sayin',"
he warned.

"I was a-wonderin' about him winnin' that hoss," said
the unselfish player as he resumed his seat and drew up
to the table.  A broad grin spread itself across his face.
"Prod him sharp, Gus: we'll get him playin' ag'in' th'
gang, some night, an' win him naked."

The subject of their conversation was upstairs behind
his closed door.  He had taken off his coat and vest
and was seated facing the washstand, from which he had
removed the basin and pitcher.  On the bench was a pile
of 45's, their bullets greaseless, and he was working
assiduously at the slug of another cartridge, his thumb
pressing this way and that, and from time to time he
turned the shell for assaults on the other side.  It was
hard on the thumb, but no other way would do, for no
other way that he could take advantage of would leave
the soft lead entirely free from telltale marks.

Time passed, but still he labored, changing thumbs
at intervals.  At last, all the leads removed and each one
standing against its own shell, he emptied the powder
from the brass containers and made a little paper
package of it.  Going to his coat and taking out the packets
of chloral, he put the powder package in their place and
returned with them to the bench.

The translucent crystals were of all sizes, some of them
too large to be economically contained by the shells,
which he had cleaned of powder marks.  These crystals
were larger only in two dimensions, for in thickness
they were practically the same as the others.  Doubtful
whether the shells would hold a full dose and permit the
leads to be replaced, he felt some anxiety as he placed
the chloral in the folds of a clean kerchief and began
crushing them by the steady pressure of the butt of his
Colt.  This was slower than pounding, but the latter was
too noisy a process under present conditions.  Dumping
the reduced crystals into a shell lined with paper against
possible chemical action on the brass, he gently tapped
the outside of the container and watched the granules
settle until there was room for the lead.  He did not dare
tamp it for fear it would not easily empty when inverted.
Pushing home the bullet he up-ended the cartridge and
tapped it again to loosen the contents.  Shaking it close
to his ear, he smiled grimly.  The dose was loose enough
to fall out readily, large enough to insure its proper
effect, and the granules of a size small enough to dissolve
quickly.  When he had filled and reloaded the last shell
he chuckled as he made a slight notch on the rim of each,
for they would bear close inspection by weight, sight,
and sound, and it was necessary that he mark them to
keep from fooling himself.

He put them back into the pocket of the coat and
grinned.  "As I remember the action of chloral hydrate
somebody may lose consciousness and muscular power
and sensibility.  Their expanding pupils as they wake up
will expand under sore and inflamed eyelids.  They'll
sleep tight and not be worth very much for an hour or
two after they do awaken.  And these men gulp their
whiskey without waiting to taste it, and it is so vile that
they'll never suspect an alien flavor, 'specially if it's not
too strong.  Gentlemen, I bid you all good night: and
may you sleep well and soundly."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A PLEASANT EXCURSION`:

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   CHAPTER IX


.. class:: center medium bold

   A PLEASANT EXCURSION

.. vspace:: 2

After an early breakfast, early for him these
days, Tex went down the street toward Carney's.
As he passed Williams' stable he heard
hammering, and paused to glance in at the door to see
what his friend, Graves, was doing.

The stableman looked up and turned halfway
around at the hail.  "Hello!" he mumbled through
a mouthful of nails.  Removing them he nodded at
the door.  "Tryin' to fasten that lock so it'll do some
good.  It must 'a' been forced off more'n once, judgin'
by th' split wood, which is so old that it ain't much
good, anyhow.  Th' nails sink into it like it was
putty."

Tex was about to suggest the sawing out of the
poorest part of the plank and the in-letting of a new
piece in its place, but some subconscious warning
bade him hold his peace.

"Much ado about nothin', Graves," he said,
smiling ironically.  "Hoss stealin' is a bigger risk in
these parts than it is a profit; an' anyhow, th' slightest
noise will wake you up, sleepin' like you do right next
to th' door."  He examined the wood.  "Huh; them
splits were made when th' wood was tough--it
wouldn't split as dead as it is now: th' nails would
just pull out.  So you see it was done years ago.
Hoss stealin' has gone out of style since then.  All
you want is a catch to hold it shut ag'in' th' wind."  He
winced suddenly and held a hand gently against
his jaw.  "That's all it wants."

"Reckon yo're right," agreed the stableman, glancing
curiously at his companion's hand.  "What's th'
matter?  Toothache?"

Tex growled a profane malediction and nodded.
"Reckon I'll have to go around an' see th' doc, an' get
some laudanum."

"An' pay that thief three prices!" expostulated
Graves indignantly.  "Chances are he's so drunk he'll
give you strychnine instead.  Why don't you go up
to Williams' store?  He's got th' laudanum, an' knows
how to fix it up for toothaches an' earaches, I reckon."

"Williams?" queried Tex in moderate surprise.
"What you talkin' about?  He ain't runnin' no
drug-store!  What's he doin' with drugs an' such stuff?"

Graves laughed and contemplated the lock with
strong disapproval.  "No, it ain't no drug-store," he
replied.  "But th' doc drinks so hard he ain't got no
money left to carry a full line of drugs, so Williams
carries 'em for him, an' sells him stuff as he needs
it.  Besides, he allus did sell strychnine to th' ranchers,
for coyotes an' wolves--though I ain't never heard
it said that any wolves was ever poisoned.
Sometimes they do get a coyote--but not no wolves.
They've been hunted so hard they just about know
as much as th' hunters."  He stepped forward and
felt of the wood around the lock.  "I reckon yo're
right," he admitted; "though while I ain't nat'rally
a sound sleeper, it would take quite some racket to
wake me up if I'd had a couple of drinks before goin'
to bed, which I generally do have.  I'll just let her
stay like she is."

Tex looked at the lock and at the bolt receptacle
on the door jamb.  The lock was fastened securely
for most people, seeing that the pressure from being
pushed inward would not work against it very much;
but the receptacle, the keystone of the door's defense,
was nailed to even poorer wood than the lock itself
and he saw at once that any real strain would force
it loose.

"Shore; good enough," he said.  "Have an eye-opener?"

Graves accepted with alacrity and in a moment they
were smiling across Carney's bar at the good-natured
proprietor.

"That hoss ready?" asked Tex when the conversation
lulled.

"In th' stall next to th' roan," answered Carney.
"Th' stable boys went to Europe last night an' won't
be back till tomorrow; but I reckon you can saddle
her yoreself."

"I'd rather do it myself," replied Tex.

"Labor of love?" queried Carney, grinning.

"Measure of precaution," retorted Tex, a slight
frown on his face.

Carney nodded endorsement.  "Can't take too
much," he rejoined.  "That goes for every kind, too.
Nice gal, she is--though a little mite stuck up.  I
reckon she----"

"Nice day," interrupted Tex, looking straight into
the eyes of the proprietor; "though it's hot, an'
close," he added slowly.

"It is that," muttered Carney.  "As I was sayin',
you'll find both hosses ready for saddles," he
vouchsafed with slight confusion.

"Much obliged," answered Tex with a smile, turning
toward the rear door.  "See you boys later," he
said, going out.  In a few minutes they saw him
ride past on a nettlesome black which put down its
white feet as though spurning contact with the earth.

"Whitefoot shore glistens," observed Graves.

"She ought to," replied Carney.  He mopped off
the bar and looked up.  "Beats all how them fellers
ride," he observed.  "They sit a saddle like they'd
growed there.  An'," he cogitated, "beats all how
touchy some of 'em are.  I can't figger him, a-tall,"
whereupon ensued an exhaustive critique of
cowpunchers, their manners, and dispositions.

Meanwhile the particular cowpuncher who had
started the discussion was riding briskly northeastward
along the trail which he knew led to the C Bar,
and after he had put a few miles behind him he took
a package from his pocket and sowed black powder
along the edge of the trail.  After a short while he
turned and rode back again.

Jane Saunders answered the knock and smiled at
the self-possessed puncher who faced her, hat in hand.
"Come in a moment," she invited, stepping aside.
"This coffee is hardly cool enough to be put into the
bottles, but it won't be long before it is.  I am so
glad you have brought Whitefoot.  I have ridden her
before."

"She's quite a horse," he replied.  "Gaited as easy
as any I ever rode."

She flashed him a suspicious glance.  "Then you've
ridden her?  When, and what for?"

"I thought it would do no harm to learn her
disposition," he answered carelessly.  "She hasn't been
out of the stable for two weeks.  We had a nice
five-mile ride, and she took it with plenty of spirit.
She's a good hoss."

After awhile Jane filled two bottles with coffee and
placed them with the lunch on the table.  Tex took
down a blackened tin pail from a hook over the stove
and, picking up the bottles and the lunch, went out
to his horse, followed by Jane, who had at the last
moment buckled on a cartridge belt and the .38 Colt.

Tex looked at them and cogitated.  "That'll be
quite heavy and annoying, bobbing up and down at
every step," he observed.  "Why not leave the belt
behind and let me slip the gun into my pocket?"

"But I should get accustomed to it," she protested.

"Intend to wear it steadily?"

"No; hardly that," she laughed.

"Then there's no reason to get accustomed to it,"
he replied.  "Surprise is a great factor, because what
is known can be guarded against.  Will you allow me
to advise you in a matter of this kind?"

"Jerry says I couldn't have a better adviser," she
replied.  She regarded him with level gaze.  "Of
course, Mr. Jones; but I want to carry it: you have
too much without taking it.  Frankly, I'm amused
by your suggestion that I learn to use it, by Jerry's
earnestness that I do learn, and by Tim's fear that
I will not.  Let us start out by being frank: Why
do you think it necessary that I do?"

"Necessary?" asked Tex.  "Why, I am not claiming
that it is necessary; but I do know that it is a
very pleasant diversion.  Miss Saunders, there is a
great deal said and written about the chivalry of
western men.  I won't say that most of it, or even
nearly all of it is not deserved, for I believe that it is;
but I will say that there are men who have no idea
of chivalry, honesty, or even decency.  You find them
wherever men are, be it any point of the compass, or
in any stratum of society.  The West has some of
them, even if less than its proportionate share; and
this town of Windsor was not overlooked in their
distribution.  I know of no particular reason why
you should learn the use of a revolver; but we are
dealing with generalities.  They suffice.  With the
odds a hundred to one that you never will have need
to call upon knowledge of firearms, why refuse that
knowledge when it is so easily acquired; and when
the acquirement not only will be a pleasure but will
lead to further pleasures?  Shooting calls for that
coordination of nerves and muscles which make all
sports sport.  And let me say, further, that the feeling
of confidence, of security, which comes from the
proper handling of a six-shooter is well worth what little
effort has been expended to learn its use.  Later I
hope you will make use of my rifle--after I reduce
the powder charges a little--but the short gun should
come first.  And I would much prefer that you carry
it yourself, and make its carrying a habit rather than
an exception."

"You are a very difficult man to argue against
successfully, Mr. Jones," she said smiling.  "I believe,
quite the hardest I ever have met."

She took off the belt, slipped the gun inside her
waist and hung the belt on a branch of a small tree
beside her.

Tex dismounted, took the belt and carried it into
the house and, returning, lifted her into the saddle,
which she wisely sat astride.  Swinging onto the roan
he led the way toward town.  She was about to speak
of the direction when she decided to keep silent, and,
glancing sidewise at him, smiled to herself at his easy
assurance and rather liked his open defiance of the
townspeople.  She had no illusions as to what effect
their ride together might have in certain minds, and
she allowed her feelings, if not her thoughts, to choose
her words.

"What a relief it is to have a day's freedom," she
exulted, patting the black.

Tex nodded understandingly.  "Yes," he said.
"Being cooped up and hedged around does get tiresome,
I suspect.  Well," he laughed, "the fences are
all down today.  We ride where we listeth and let
no man say us nay."

She looked at him smilingly.  "Do you know that
you are something of an enigma?  I'm curious to
know what's going on in your head," she daringly
declared.  "You just said the fences are all down,
you know."

He laughed and glanced down the main street,
into which they at that moment turned, and a certain
grimness came to his face, which she did not miss.
"Why allow yourself to be disappointed?" he asked.
"Illusions have their worth; and a mystery solved
loses its interest.  As a matter of fact, the less that
is known of what goes on in my head, the better for
my reputation for wisdom and common sense.  It
reminds me of the mouse in the cave."

"Yes?"

"Yes.  It was such a big cave and such a little
mouse," he explained.  "And except for the little
mouse the cave was empty."

"I admire your humility; it is refreshing, especially
in this country; but I fear it is a very great
illusion.  Like the other illusions to which you just
referred, has it its worth?"

"Confession is good for the soul, and always has
worth."

While he spoke he saw a lounger before the hotel
come to startled life and hurry inside.  Down the
street three conversing miners stopped their words
to stare open-mouthed at the two riders nonchalantly
jogging their way.  The door of the hotel became
jammed and curious, surprised faces peered from its
dirty windows, among them the angry countenance
of Henry Williams.

The ordeal of proceeding naturally and carelessly
down that street under such frank scrutiny would
have tried the balance of any poise, and Jane, flushing
and trying to ignore the stares, flashed a searching
glance at her companion and felt a quick admiration
for him.  She could imagine Tommy under these
conditions.  For all she could detect, her companion
might have been riding across the uninhabited
plains with no observing eyes within a day's ride of
him.  Swaying rhythmically to the motion of his
horse, relaxed, unconcerned, and natural, he talked
with ease and smoothness; and unknowingly made an
impression on her which time never would efface.

"That simile of the mouse in the cave," he was
saying, "naturally sets up a train of thought--all
thought being an unbroken, closely connected, although
not necessarily manifest to us, concatenation--and
leads to the ass in the lion's skin, being
helped materially by the great number of asses in
sight, despite the scarcity of even the skins of the
nobler beasts.  The dual combination does not end
there, however; there are jackals in lobos' hides,
and vultures posing as eagles.  Even the lowly skunk
has found a braver skin and bids for a reputation
sweeter to bear than the one earned by his own
striking peculiarity.  For such a one there is nothing
so disconcerting as a six-gun appearing from a place
where no six-gun should be--and it loses none of its
potency even if the bore be small and the charge
light.  Have you ever had the opportunity to study
animals at close range, Miss Saunders?"

His companion, bent over the saddle horn in her
mirth, gasped that she never had enjoyed such an
opportunity, especially before today, whereupon he
continued.

"The ass in the lion's skin was all right and got
along famously until he brayed," he explained; "but
the skunk fools no one for one instant, not even
himself.  He can't even fool Oh My, here," and he
slapped the glossy neck of the roan.

"Who?" demanded Jane, her face red from laughter.

"Oh My; my horse," he answered.  "He was
named by one Windy Barrett, when that person
awakened from a stupor acquired by pouring libations
to Bacchus.  The rest of the name is Cayenne."

"Why, that's an exclamation, not a name--Oh!"  Jane
went off into another fit of laughter.  "*Omar
Khayyam*!  Isn't that rich!  Whatever did you do when
you heard it?

"I led Graves to the tavern door agape," answered
Tex, grinning.

By this time they had swung into the trail leading
to the C Bar and the miles rolled swiftly behind them.
Suddenly Tex touched his companion's arm, both
reining in abruptly.  Squarely in the middle of the
trail was a rattlesnake, huge for the prairie, and it
coiled swiftly, the triangular head erect and the tail
whirring.

"Ugh!" exclaimed Jane, a wave of revulsion
sweeping over her.  "What a monster!  Can you
shoot it from here?"

Tex nodded.  "Yes, but while I usually do, I rather
dislike the job.  He's a snake all right, man's
hereditary enemy since the world was young, and the hatred
for him comes to us naturally.  Sinister, repellant,
and all that, that chap is as square as any enemy in
the wild, and he is coolly business-like.  He hasn't
a friend outside his own species, and even in that is
to be found one of his chief enemies.  There he lies,
for all to see, his gauntlet thrown, whirring his
determination to defend himself, and to depart if given
a chance.  Look at those coils, their grace and power,
not an ungainly movement the whole length of him.
Look at his markings--from the freshness of his
skin and its vivid coloration I'd say he has very
recently parted with his old skin, and the parasites
which infected it.  You shed your skin in vain,
Old-Timer--you'll not enjoy it long," and his hand
dropped to the holster.  A flash and a roar, a rolling
burst of smoke, and the defiant head jerked sidewise,
hanging by a few shreds of muscle to the writhing
coils.  "'Dead for a ducat, dead!'" quoted Tex, leading
the way past his victim.

A little farther on he pointed to a track along the
side of the trail.

"Dog or wolf," he said.  "They're identical except
for directness.  A dog's track wavers, a wolf's does
not.  From the fact that it follows the trail I'd say
that was a dog; but it may puzzle us before we lose
it.  He was a big animal, though, and if a wolf he's
a lobo, the gray buffalo wolf, cunning as Satan and
brave as Hector.  And what a killer!  No carrion
for him, no meat killed by anyone but himself, and
usually he's shy about returning to that.  He creates
havoc on a cattle range.  Poison he sneers at, and it
takes mighty shrewd trapping to catch him.  To
avoid the scent of man is his leading maxim.  Before
the snow comes he is safe--afterwards his troubles
begin if a tracer crosses his trail."

"Why I thought he was a big coyote," said Jane.
"You make him out to be quite a remarkable animal."

"And justly," responded her companion.  "Coyote?
They shouldn't be mentioned together in the same
breath.  The buffalo gray is a king--the coyote a
crawling scavenger, with wits in place of courage.
The difference in the natures is indicated graphically
by the way they hold their tails.  The coyote's droops
at a sharp angle, but the lobo's is held straight out.
A single wolf is more expensive to ranchers now
than he once was, because he has been hunted so
hard with traps and poison that he now has learned
not to eat dead animals, and in some cases even to
ignore his own kill after once he has left it.  I've
heard of several wolves, each of which have been
blamed for the killing of sixty cows in a year, and
their score might have run quite some higher.  Have
you been watching this track?  I'd say it's wolf--and as
direct as an arrow.  And there is the great
western target--tomato, from the color of it.
Suppose you try your hand at it?"

Jane produced the pistol and listened intelligently
(and how rare a gift that is!) to all her companion
had to tell her.  When the pistol was emptied the
can was still untouched.  Laughing, Tex dismounted,
and drew a long rectangle in the sand, with the can
in the median line and to one end.

"The ground laying flat instead of standing up like
a man," he explained, "I had to figure on your line
of vision.  If the upper half of a man's body were
placed on the line nearer you, his head would just
about intercept your view of the farther line.  Now
your third and sixth shots, having struck inside the
four lines, would have hit a man at that distance.
I'd say you hit his stomach with the third shot, and
his right shoulder with the other.  The can is of no
moment, for cans are not dangerous; but when I
show you how to reload, I want you to aim at the
can, as if it were the buckle of a belt.  You take to
that Colt like a duck takes to water--and before
you get home today you'll surprise yourself.  Now,
to eject the empties and to reload--and by the way,
Miss Saunders, if I were you, carrying that gun as
you must carry it, I'd leave one cartridge out, and
let the hammer rest on the empty chamber."

The lesson went on, his pupil slowly becoming
enthused and finding that it truly was a sport.  When
she had made four out of five in the marked-off space
she was greatly elated and would have continued shooting
after she was tired, but her tutor refused to let her.

"That is enough for now," he laughed.  "On our
way back you may try a few more rounds if you wish.
No use to tire yourself, especially after such a
creditable showing.  In these few minutes you graduated
out of the defenseless-woman class, and may God
help anybody who discounts your defense.  You see,
the main thing is not the shooting, but the freedom
from fear of weapons and knowing how to use them.
There is nothing mysterious about a Colt--it won't
blow up, or shoot behind.  Whatever timidity you
may have had about handling one has been overcome,
and in a few minutes you have learned to hold it
right and to shoot it.  The bare threat of a gun held
in capable hands is in most cases enough.  Now, if
you please, I'll try my left hand at the can.  I wear
only one gun, but it may be necessary to wear two--and
while my left hand has been trained to shoot
well, this is a good opportunity to exercise it."

Filling the can with sand and dirt to weigh it
against rolling, he stepped back twenty paces, tossed
his own Colt into his left hand, dropped the butt to
his hip and sent six shots at the crimson target.
Stepping from the smoke cloud he advanced and
examined the can.  One bullet had clipped its upper
edge, another had grazed one side, while the other
four were grouped in the sand within a radius only;
a little larger than that of the target.

"That wouldn't do for two of my friends," he
laughed, "but it's good enough for me.  Not a shot
would have missed the target I had in mind.  Had I
shot as quickly as I could, I might have missed the
target altogether, but close enough for practical
purposes.  On the other hand, had I taken a little more
time, the score would be better."

Jane's mouth still was open in delighted surprise.
"Do you mean to tell me that anyone can do better
than that, from the hip, without sighting at all?" she
demanded incredulously.

"Oh, yes," he replied, reloading the weapon.
"Quite some few, notably those two friends of whom
I spoke.  You see I am satisfied in attaining practical
perfection in my left hand, knowing that my other is
skilled to a higher degree; but my friends must
spend their time and cartridges painting the lily.
Either Johnny or Hopalong would feel quite chagrined
if at least five hadn't cut into the can.  You should
see them shooting against each other, breaking
matches to get the exact measurements and arguing
as if a fortune depended on it.  Why, Miss Saunders,
either of them could walk into Williams' hotel on a
busy night, give warning, and empty two guns in less
than ten seconds, every shot hitting a man.  They
have faced greater odds than that, both of them."

"You mean that one man could defeat a crowd like that?"

"Exactly; but they would not have to fire a shot,"
he said, smiling.  "You see, such a man would only
have to throw down on the crowd to hold them in
check, if they know he will go through with his play.
It isn't unlike an arch.  The keystone in this case
is the fear of certain death to the man who leads.
The first man in the crowd to make a play would
die.  To some people martyrdom has a morbidly
pleasant appeal as an abstract proposition; but in a
concrete state, where the suffering is not vicarious,
it really has few devotees.  And here is a psychological
fact: every man in the front rank of such a
crowd is fully convinced that he has been selected
for the target if the rush starts.  Hopalong and
Johnny would go through with their play if their
hand was forced, and they are the kind of men whose
expressions assure that they will.  It is a great
comfort to have them with you if you must enter a hostile
town.  It's a gift, like the gift of keener, swifter
reflexes."

"It seems so impossible," commented Jane.
"Won't you please try your other hand at a can?
Somehow I felt that the snake was killed by accident
more than skill.  It seemed absurd, the offhand way
you did it."

"This really is no test," he responded, filling
another can and stepping back as he shifted the weapon
to the right hand.  "There is not the tenseness which
a great stake causes; but, on the other hand, there
is not the high-tension signals to the muscles.  Watch
closely," and the jarring crashes sounded like a loud
ripping.  One hole through the picture of a perfect
tomato, two just above it, two lower down, and the
sixth on the upper edge of the can gave mute
testimony that he shot well.

She fairly squealed with delight and clapped her
hands in spontaneous enthusiasm.  "Wonderful!
Wonderful!  Oh, if I ever could shoot like that!  I
don't believe those friends can even equal it, and I
don't care how good they are."  Her face beamed.
"But that must have taken a great deal of practice."

"Years of it," he replied, "coupled to a natural
aptitude.  While the accuracy is good enough, that
is of secondary consideration.  Had only one bullet
struck the target, or grazed it, the other five would
not have been necessary.  The speed of the draw
is the great thing.  Any man used to shooting a
revolver can hit that mark once in six--but he
is far from a real gunman if he can't beat ninety-nine
men out of a hundred in firing the first shot.  That
is what counts with a gun-fighter.  His target is
almost any place between the belt and the shoulders.
If he strikes there and does not kill his man he will
have time for a second shot if it is needed.  My left
hand is as deadly as my right against a living target so
far as accuracy is concerned; but pit it against my
right and it would be hopelessly lost, dead before it could
get the gun out of the holster.  And Hopalong Cassidy
twice gave me lessons in the fine art of drawing--once
in an exhibition and the second time in what would have
been mortal combat if he had not allowed his heart to
guide his head.  I did not in the least merit his mercy.
I had lived a wild, careless life, Miss Saunders; but it
changed from that day."

"Jerry told me why you made him give up wearing
his revolver," she said, thoughtfully.  "I did not fully
appreciate his words; but the graphic exposition lacks
nothing to be convincing.  Was your interest in his
welfare another of your generalities?"

Her companion laughed.  "Jerry is a very likable
chap, Miss Saunders.  Knowing that some feeling against
him existed, and not knowing into what it might develop,
I only followed the promptings of caution.  He is a
gentleman and a man infinitely finer grained than the rest of
the inhabitants of Windsor.  He is honorable and he
lacks insight into the common motives which impel many
men to perform acts he would not countenance.  I have
knocked about the West for twenty years, seeing it at
its best and at its worst--and you simply cannot
conceive what that worst is.  I have met many Gus Williamses
and Jakes and Bud Haineses and Henry Williamses.  They
are almost a distinct variation of the human species;
they are a recognized and classified type.  I knew them
all as soon as I saw them.  Bud Haines is a natural killer.
He'd kill a man at a nod from the man who hired him.
Gus Williams hires him, knowing that.  Henry, the
nephew, is foul, a sneak, and a coward.  I'd rather see a
sister of mine in her grave than married to him.  But he
is Gus Williams' nephew, the second power in town and
must not be overlooked; and he never will know how
close to death he has been these last few days.  It fairly
has breathed in his face.  But we've had enough of this:
not far ahead is a fairly good place for our lunch, unless
you would prefer to go on to the C Bar."

"Why have you mentioned the nephew to me?" demanded
Jane, her cheeks flushed and a fear in her eyes.

"Did I single him out?" asked Tex in surprise.  "Why,
I only mentioned him, along with the others, while giving
examples of a detestable type and to explain why Jerry
should not go about armed.  I hope I have not frightened
you, Miss Saunders?"

"You have not frightened me," she answered.  "I have
been frightened for a long time.  We are so helpless!
Things which bother me, I dare not speak to him about
them, for he only would get into trouble and to no avail.
He cannot pick and choose; and I must stand by him, no
matter where he goes, or what he does.  Is there mercy
in heaven, is there justice in God, that we should be so
circumscribed, forced by ills hard enough in themselves
to bear, into still greater ills?  Jerry's lungs would be
tragedy enough for us to bear; but when I look around
at times and see--do you believe in God, Mr. Jones?"

"What I may or may not believe in is no aid to you,
Miss Saunders," replied Tex, amazed at his reaction to
her distress.  It was all he could do to keep from taking
her in his arms.  It was a lucky thing for Henry
Williams that he finally abandoned the idea of following
them.  "If you have been taught to believe in a Divine
Power, then don't you turn away from it.  To say there
is no God is to be as dogmatic as to say there is; for
every reasoning being must admit a First Cause.  It is
only when we characterize it, and attempt to give It
attributes that differences of opinions arise.  I am not going
to enter into any discussion with you on subjects of this
nature, Miss Saunders.  Nor am I going to tell you what
my convictions are.  They do not concern us.  If you
have any religious belief, cling to it: this is when it
should begin paying dividends."

"Have you read Kant?"

"Yes; and Spencer tears him apart."

"You are familiar with Spencer?"

"As I am with my own name.  To my way of thinking
his is the greatest mind humanity ever produced--but,
with your permission, we will change the subject."

"Not just yet, please," she said.  "You admire his
logical reasoning?"

"I refuse to answer," he smiled.  "Here, let me give
you an example of logical reasoning, Miss Saunders.
Here are two coins," he said, digging two double eagles
out of his pocket, "which, along with thousands of others,
we will say, were struck from one die.  You and I would
say that they are identical, especially after the most
thorough and minute examination failed to disclose any
differences.  I hardly believe that any man, no matter
how much he may be aided by instruments of precision,
can take two freshly minted coins from the same die and
find any difference.  But what does pure logic say?"

"Certainly not that there is any difference?" she challenged
in frank surprise.

He chuckled.  "That is just what it claims, and here
is the reasoning: No one will deny that the die wears out
with use, which is the same as saying that the impressions
change it.  To deny that they do is to say that it does
not wear out, which is absurd.  Therefore each
impression, being a part of the total impressions, must have
done its share in the changing.  And each impression,
having changed it, must be different from those preceding
and following it.  Now, if the die changes, as we
have just proved that it does, so must the coins struck
off from it, for to say otherwise is to claim that effects
are not produced by causes, and that a changed die will
not make changed coins.  Therefore, there are no two
coins absolutely alike, never have been, and never can be,
even at the moment they leave the die.  Put them into
circulation and the hypothetical differences rapidly
increase, since no two of the coins can possibly receive the
same treatment in their travelings.  There you have it, in
pure logic: but does it get you any place?  On the
strength of it, would you persist in denying that these
coins are dissimilar?  Are they so practically?  And it is
from practical logic that we draw the deductions by
which we think and move and live.  So you take my
word that it will be better for you to cling to whatever
faith you may have.  If it is not practical enough for
you, I'll look after that end for you; and between your
faith and the cunning of my gun-hand I'll warrant that
your brother will come to no harm.  Shall we lunch at
the C Bar, or in that little clump of burned and sickly
timber on the bank of that dried-up creek?"

"I'm really too hungry to postpone the lunch," she
said, smiling; "besides I want to watch you in camp, and
to listen to you.  It seems to me that you have too keen a
brain to be spending your life where it all is wasted."

"Your compliment is disposed of by the fact that I
am what I am," he responded.  "The return compliment
of not being able to be in a better place, under
present conditions, is so obvious that I'll not spoil its
effect by saying it.  Anyhow, a fair vocabulary and a
veneer of knowledge are not the measures of wisdom,
but rather a disguising coat.  To come right down to
elementals, I heartily agree with you about the lunch.
I'll be better company after the inner man has been
properly attended to, for food always leavens my
cynicism.  Did I hear you ask why I do not eat continually?"

The clump of browned trees reached, it took but little
time to unpack the lunch and start a cunningly built fire
of twigs and broken branches, over which the coffee
quickly heated.  Depressing as the surroundings were,
barren and sun-baked as far as eye could see, the bed
of the creek dried and cracked and curling, this scene
was destined to live long in the memory of Tex Ewalt.
The food, better cooked and far more daintily prepared
than any he could recall, tasted doubly good in the
presence of his intelligent, good-looking companion.  The
subjects of their interested discussions were wide in range
and neither very long maintained a certain restraint
which had characterized their earlier conversations.  She
led him to talk of the West as it was, as he had seen it,
and as he hoped it would become; a skillful question
starting him off anew, and her intelligent comments
keeping him at his best.  So absorbed were they that even he
failed to hear the step of a horse and did not know of
its presence until an eager, if timid, hail stopped him
short.

"Gosh, you people look cheerful," called Tommy Watkins,
gazing at Jane with his heart in his eyes.

"Sorry I can't say the same about your looks,"
chuckled Tex, his quick glance noting the boyishness of
their visitor, his youthful freshness and the rebellious
admiration in his unblinking eyes.  Tex took himself in
hand and crushed the feeling of jealousy which tingled
in him and threatened to show itself in words, looks, and
actions.  He looked inquiringly at his companion and
at her slight nod, he beckoned to the youth.  "Come over
here an' make it three-handed, cowboy," he called.
"We'll salvage what we can of th' lunch an' feed it to
you.  Did you find the ranch there, when you got home
th' other night?"

Tommy rode up and gravely dismounted.  "Yes, it
was there.  They said you hadn't been around so far as
they knew, so I had my hasty ride for nothin'.  How'd'y
do, ma'am?" he asked, his hat going under his arm.

"Very well, indeed," replied Jane, smiling and fixing
a place for him at her other side.  "I'm sorry you did
not come while there was more to eat, although I'll
confess that I am not apologizing for my share of the havoc.
It has been a long time since I have enjoyed a meal as I
have this lunch.  Sit here, Mr. Watkins--I am glad that
there is some coffee left."

"That's what I get for being thrifty and thinking of
the future," laughed Tex.  "It's like the men who work
hard and save all their lives, so that someone else can
spend for them.  Here you go, Thomas: look out--it's
still hot."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Tommy, flushing and
embarrassed, as he dropped onto the spot indicated.  "I
ain't a bit hungry, though."

"You will be after the first bite," assured Tex.  "The
cups have been used, and there's no water for washing
them.  That's excuse enough for any man to drink out
of the pail, and I envy you there, Tommy Watkins.
Cattle gettin' along all right in spite of the drought?
Expect to have a big gain this round-up?  They ought to
bring top-notch prices if they're in good shape."

Steered easily into familiar channels of conversation,
Tommy got on well, so well that his embarrassment
gradually disappeared and he was nearly his natural self;
but he did envy his friend's ability to think coherently
and to talk with fluent ease on any subject mentioned.
Jane Saunders learned more about cows, cattle, steers,
calves, cows, cattle, riding, roping, round-ups, branding,
cows, calves, horses, cattle, and other ranch subjects than
she thought existed to be learned.  And she shot a glance
of grateful appreciation at Tex Jones for the way in
which he put their guest on his feet and kept him there
through several vocal flounderings.  It was so tactfully
done that Tommy did not realize it.

Gradually Tex worked out of the conversation and
studied his companions.  He saw clean youth entertaining
clean youth; a bubbling mirth free from suspicion or
irony; an absence of cynicism, and an unbounding faith in
the future.  He hid his smile at how Tommy was led to
talk of himself and of his ambitions.  They looked to be
about the same age, Tommy perhaps a few years her
senior; and when she looked at Tommy there was
friendliness in her eyes; and when Tommy looked at her there
was a great deal more in his.

The keen, but apparently careless, observer silently
and fairly reviewed the years that had passed since he
had been at Tommy's age; the lack of illusions, the cold,
cynical practicality of his thoughts and actions; the laws,
both civil and moral, which he contemptuously had
shattered.  He could not remember the time when he
had had Tommy's faith in men, nor his enthusiasm.
Tommy was looking forward to a life of clean, hard
work, and actually with a fierce eagerness.  Never had
such a thing been an impelling motive in the life of Tex
Ewalt.  Instead he had planned shrewdly and consistently
how to avoid working for a living, and when it was
solved, then how to live higher and higher with the least
additional effort.  And he now admitted that if he had
the chance to live that period over again, under the same
circumstances, he would repeat his course in the major
things.  He felt neither regret nor remorse at the
contrast--he had lived as it pleased him, and the Tex Ewalt
of today had no censure for the Tex Ewalt of yesterday.
But he was fair, at all events; and to draw true
deductions from accepted facts was an art not to be perverted
because expediency might beckon.  After all, he did not
try to fool himself; and he was no hypocritical whiner.
Being fair, he calmly realized that he was the unfitting
unit of this triangle, that he did not belong there.  But
there would be time enough for such cogitation later on.

"Shore," Tommy was dogmatically asserting.  "Th'
rattler gets all cramped up an' tired, an' there is an
instant when he can't turn fast enough to keep his nasty
little eyes on th' other, that's racin' around him like a
flash.  That's th' end of th' rattler.  Th' kingsnake darts
in, grabs th' rattler behind th' head, an' after a great
thrashin' around, kills him dead.  *Ain't* that so, Mr. Jones?"

Tex lazily turned his head and looked at the doubting
auditor and then at the anxious Tommy.  He gravely
nodded.  "Yes that's th' end.  That's the enemy within
the snake's own species which I mentioned back on the
trail, Miss Saunders."

The look of doubt faded from her face and a nebulous
smile transformed it.  She was certain of it now.

Tex flamed at what that change told him, tingling to
his finger tips with a surging elation.  He felt that he
had but to speak three words to put her vague feelings
into a coherent wonder of wonders; but to crystallize
them into an everlasting passion by the alchemy of his
avowal, or the touch of his lips.  The lulled storm within
him broke out anew and blazed fiercely.  He arose, kicked
an inoffensive tin can over the bed of the creek and spun
it in mid-air by a vicious, eye-baffling shot from his
Colt.  Realizing how he had forgotten himself, and his
resolutions, he, the cool, imperturbable Tex Ewalt, he
recovered his poise and bowed, smilingly, to the surprised
pair.

"That's shootin', Tex!" cried Tommy.

"It's more than that," smiled Tex.  "It's notice that
it's time to try that .38, Miss Saunders," he announced.
"She is learning to use a gun, Tommy--I've been telling
her how much fun it is.  I'll call th' shots while you
stand by her to answer questions.  Suppose we have a
more suitable target, this time.  What can we use?"

Tommy grinned expansively.  "Who's goin' to do th'
shootin'?" he demanded.

"Miss Saunders," answered Tex.  "Why?"

"Oh; all right then--here, prop up my hat," offered
Tommy; "But not too all-fired close!" he warned.

"There's chivalry for you, Mr. Jones!" triumphantly
exclaimed Jane, her eyes dancing.

"Think so?" queried Tex, grinning.  "Huh!"  He
shook his head.  "I'd say he is not paying you any
compliment.  Just for that I hope you shoot it to pieces."

He took the sombrero from Tommy's extended hand,
went down and crossed the creek bed, and placed the hat
against the opposite bank.  Stepping off twenty paces he
drew a line on the earth with the side of his boot sole
and beckoned to the flushed markswoman.

"That hat is a pressing danger," he warned.  "You've
got to get it, or it'll get you.  Don't be careless, and don't
waste any sympathy on the grinning wretch who owns it."

"But I don't want to ruin it," she protested.  "Surely
something else will answer?"

"You go ahead an' ruin it, if you can," chuckled
Tommy.  "Don't *you* worry none--*I* ain't!"

"I do believe it wasn't a compliment, or chivalry, at
all," she laughed.  "All right, Mr. Watkins: here goes
for a new hat!"  Slowly, deliberately, holding her arm
as she had been instructed, she aimed and fired until the
weapon was empty.  The hat had a hole near one edge
of the crown and another near the edge of the brim.

"Glory be!" exclaimed Tommy.  "I'm votin' for a
new target!  Why that's plumb fine, Miss Saunders--if
it ain't an accident!"

"Let's see if it was," suggested Tex, handing her
another round of cartridges.  "Here!" he exclaimed,
glancing at Tommy.  "Where you goin' so fast?"

"To collect th' ruins," retorted the puncher over his
shoulder.  "*You* got a hat, ain't you?"

"I have, and I'm keeping it right where it belongs,"
rejoined Tex.  "I didn't suggest that it was any accident,
did I?"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`SPEED AND GUILE`:

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   CHAPTER X


.. class:: center medium bold

   SPEED AND GUILE

.. vspace:: 2

Tex and Tommy said their adieus, watched Jane
enter the house, and then rode slowly toward
the station where, after a few words with Jerry
Saunders, Tommy went on alone, leaving Tex talking
with the agent.

The C Bar puncher rode down the main street
full of more kinds of emotion than he ever had
known before, and among them was a strong feeling
of his inability to gain Jane's attention while Tex
Jones was around.  Jealousy was working in the yeasty
turbulence of his heart and mind.  Taking off his
perforated sombrero he gazed at it as though it were
something sacred.  There they were, two of them,
made by her blessed bullets!  Reverently pushing
the ragged felt of their rims back into place, he patted
the nearly closed holes and put the sombrero on his
head again.  There would be no new hat for Tommy
Watkins, as she had laughingly said.  No, sir!  No,
sir-e-e!

Opposite the hotel he became aware of his
surroundings and suddenly decided that he needed a
drink to steady himself, to shock himself into a
more natural condition of mind.  As he made the
decision, he idly observed Bud Haines emerge from
the door of the general store and start toward him
on the peculiar, bow-legged, choppy stride he so
much affected.  And as Tommy swung off the horse
and carelessly tossed the reins across the tie-rail he
caught sight of Tex Jones waving to the agent and
slowly wheeling the roan.

Tommy made his way through the card-table end
of the room, noticing without giving any particular
weight to the fact, that he was the cynosure of all
eyes.  Still strange to himself and very much
occupied by his thoughts, he did not note whether
there were six or two dozen men in the room; nor
that their eager and low-voiced conversation
abruptly ceased upon his entry, and that there was an
air of expectancy which seemed to fill the room.
He passed Henry Williams, who was seated at a
small table, with a nod and rested his elbows on
the bar.  Silently a bottle and glass were placed
before him, silently he poured out a drink and downed
it mechanically.  Then Henry spoke, his ratlike eyes
for a moment not shifting.

"That's a fenced range," he said in a low, tense
voice.  "You keep off it!"

Tommy, not realizing that the words were
intended for him, still rested his elbows on the bar,
his back to the speaker and the rest of the room,
buried in his abstractions.  He neither saw nor heard
the quiet, quick entry of Bud Haines through the
front door, nor knew that the gunman stopped
suddenly and leaned against the jamb.  Neither he, nor
anyone else, caught the quiet step nearing that same
door from the street.

Henry Williams, finding his warning totally
ignored, let his anger leap to rage.

"You!" he snarled.  "I'm talking to you, Watkins!"

Tommy started and swung around, momentarily
out of touch with his surroundings.  The meanness
in the voice, the deadly timbre of it, warned him
subconsciously rather than acutely, and he stared at
the speaker.

"What you say, Williams?" he asked, rapidly
sensing the hostility in the air.  "I was thinkin' of
somethin'," he explained.

"I'm givin' you somethin' to think about!" retorted
Henry, slowly arising and slowly leaning forward
on the table.  "You don't want to stop thinkin'
about it, neither--unless you want to join th' dead
uns on Boot Hill.  I said that range is fenced--*you
keep off*!"

Tommy, alert as a coiled snake now, watched
the angry man while he considered.  A fenced
range.  He was to keep off.  "I ain't gettin' th'
drift of that," he said, slowly.  "Any reason why
you shouldn't talk so I'll know what yo're meanin'?"

"Yo're dumb as h--l, ain't you?" sneered Henry,
his voice rising shrilly and the little, close-set eyes
beginning to flame.  "I wouldn't have nobody say
you wasn't warned plain.  I'm tellin' you for th' last
time, to do yore courtin' somewhere else!  I'm
claimin' that Saunder gal.  Keep away, that's all!"

Tommy went a little white around his stiffening
lips.  When his words came they sounded the spirit
of the C Bar, but where they came from he did not
know; perhaps he had heard them or read them
somewhere.  Certainly they did not by right
belong to his direct method of conveying thought.  He
knew Henry Williams, his baseness, his petty
villainies, his bestial nature.  The picture of Jane,
innocent and sweet, came to him and made a contrast
which sickened him.  Looking straight into Henry's
eyes his voice rasped its insulting, deadly reply.

"It's bad enough for a coyote like me to admire
a rose; but I'm d--d if any polecat's goin' to pluck
it!"

Before the words were all spoken and before
either of the disputants could move they heard the
startling crash of a gun and instinctively glanced
toward the sound.  They saw Bud Haines, his
smoking revolver forced slowly up behind his back,
higher and higher, the gun wrist gripped in the
sinewy fingers of Tex Jones, whose right hand held his
own Colt at his hip, the deadly muzzle covering the
two in front of the bar, without a tremble of its
steely barrel.  His gripping fingers kept on
twisting, while one knee held the killer from writhing
sidewise to escape the grip of the punishing
bending of the imprisoned arm.  Slowly the tortured
muscles grew numb, slowly beads of perspiration
stood out on the killer's forehead, and as his
throbbing elbow neared the snapping point, he gasped,
released his hold on the Colt and then went
spinning across the room from the power of his captor's
whirling shove.  When he stopped he froze in his
tracks, for Tex carelessly held two guns now, the
captured weapon covering its owner.

"Phew!" sighed Tex, a grin slowly spreading
across his red face.  "That was close, that was!
Reckon I done saved quite a mess in here."  He glared
at Tommy.  "You get th' h--l out of here an' don't
come back till you know how to act!  Runnin' around
like a mad dog, tryin' to kill men that never done
you no harm!  G'wan, or I'll let Hennery loose at you!
I heard what you said, an' I wouldn't blame him if
he blowed you wide open!  G'wan!  Shove that gun
back where it belongs, an' git: *Pronto*!  You've gone
an' got Bud an' me bad friends, I reckon, an' I can't
hardly blame him, neither."

Henry's eyes were riveted on the menacing Colt,
his hand frozen where it had stopped, a few inches
above the butt of his own.  Bud Haines leaned forward,
balanced on the balls of his feet, but not daring
to leap.  The spectators were staring, open-mouthed,
quite content to let things take their course without
any impetus from them.

Tommy sullenly slid the gun back into its holster
and walked toward the door, too angry to speak.
Glaring at Tex he went out, mounted and rode toward
the ranch; and it was half an hour later before
he came to the realization that his life had been saved
from a shot from the side, and by the time he had
reached the ranchhouse he was grinning.

Tex flipped the captured gun into the air, caught
it by the barrel, and tossed it, butt first, to the
killer.  "I shore am apologizin' to you, Bud," he
said, "for cuttin' in that way--but I had to act
sudden, an' rough."

As the weapon settled into its owner's hand it roared
and leaped, the bullet cutting Tex's vest under the
armpit.  Before a second shot could follow from
it Bud twisted sidewise and plunged face down on
the floor.

Tensed like a panther about to spring, Tex peered
through the thinning cloud of smoke rising from his
hip, his attention on the others in the room.  "Sorry,"
he said.  "You saw it all.  I gave him his gun, butt
first, an' he shot at me with it.  Clipped my vest
under my left shoulder.  I couldn't do nothin' else.
I'm sayin' that doin' favors for strangers is risky
business--but is anybody findin' any fault with this
shootin'?"  He glanced quickly from face to face and
then nodded slightly.  "It was plain self-defense.  If
I'd 'a' thought he was a-goin' to shoot I shore
wouldn't 'a' chucked him his loaded gun.  Reckon
I'm a plain d--d fool!"

There were no replies to him.  The tense faces
stared at the man who had killed Bud Haines in a
fight after the killer had shot first.  While there
were no accusations in their expressions, neither
was there any friendliness.  The killing had been
justified.  This seemed to be the collective opinion,
for in no way could the facts be changed.  Bud had
been man-handled in a manner which to him had
been an unbearable insult, the fight could be
considered as of his adversary's starting, but the actual
shooting was as the victor claimed; and it was the
shooting which they were to judge.

Tex, feeling ruefully of the bullet-torn vest, shoved
his gun into its sheath and went over to Henry's
table.  The nephew hardly had moved since the first
shot.

"I got somethin' to talk to you about, Henry,"
said Tex in a low, confidential voice.  "'Tain't for
everybody's ears, neither; so sit down a minute.  That
fool Watkins came cuttin' in as we was ridin' back,
or I might have more news."

Henry slowly followed his companion's movements
and straddled his chair.  He motioned to the
bartender for drinks and then let his suspicious eyes
wander over his companion's face.  He had a vast
respect for Tex Jones.

"I reckon he's been cured of cuttin' in," he
growled, a momentary gleam showing.  "That's a
habit of yourn, too," he said.  "An' it's a cussed
bad one, here in Windsor."

Tex spread his hands in helpless resignation.  "I
know it.  Ever since I've been in this town I been
puttin' my worst foot forward.  I'm allus bunglin'
things; an' just when I was beginnin' to make a
few friends, Bud had to go an' git blind mad an'
spoil everythin'.  I didn't have nothin' ag'in' Bud;
but I reckon mebby I was a little mite rough."

"Oh, Bud be d--d!" coldly retorted Henry.  "He
had th' edge, an' lost.  That's between him an' you.
What I'm objectin' to, Jones, is th' way you spoiled
my plans.  Don't you never cut into my affairs like
you did just now.  I'm tellin' you fair.  I'm admittin'
yo're a prize-winnin' gun-thrower; but there's other
ways in this town.  Savvy?"

Tex shook his head apologetically and nodded.
"You an' me ain't goin' to have no trouble,
Hennery," he declared earnestly.  "If you want that C
Bar fool, go git him.  It ain't none of my business.
But I'm worryin' about what yore uncle's goin' to
say about me shootin' Bud," he confessed with plain
anxiety.  "He's a big man, Williams is; an' me,
shucks: I ain't nothin' a-tall."

"He'll take my say-so," assured Henry, "after he
cools down.  Now what you got to tell me?"

"It's about that Saunders gal," answered Tex.  He
hitched his chair a little nearer to the table.  "You
remember what I told you, couple of nights ago?
Well, I got to thinkin' about it when I was near th'
station yesterday, so I went in an' got friendly with
her brother."  He rubbed his chin and grinned
reminiscently.  "There was a box across th' track that
he had been using for a target.  I asked him what
it was an' he told me, an' he said he couldn't hit
it.  I sort of egged him on, not believin' him; an'
shore enough he couldn't--an', Hennery, it was near
as big as a house!  I cut loose an' made a sieve of
it--you must 'a' heard th' shootin'?  His eyes plumb
stuck out, an' we got to talkin' shootin'.  Finally he
ups an' asks me can I show his sister how to throw
a gun an', seein' my chance to learn somethin' about
her, I said I shore could show anybody that wasn't
scared to death of one, an' that had any sense.  'How
much will you charge for th' lessons?' says he.  I
had a good chance to pick up some easy money, but
that wasn't what I was playin' for.  I just wanted to
get sort of friendly with her, an' him, too.  I says,
'Nothin'.'  Well, we fixed it up, an' today we goes off
practicin'--you should 'a' seen that lunch, Hennery!
I'm cussed near envyin' you!"  He laughed
contentedly, leaned back, and rubbed his stomach.

"Well?" demanded Henry, grinning ruefully.

"Well," echoed Tex.  "You know that sewin' an'
crochetin' is a whole lot different from shootin' a .45;
an' so does she, now.  I reckon a .22 would 'most scare
her to death.  Did you ever shoot with yore eyes
shut?  You don't have to try: it can't be done, an'
hit nothin'.  Six-guns an' wimmin wasn't never made
to mix; an' they shore don't.  We ate up th' lunch
an' started back ag'in, an' I was just gettin' set to
swing th' conversation in yore direction, carelesslike,
but real careful, an' see what I could find out for you,
when cussed if that C Bar coyote didn't come dustin'
up, an' I don't know any more than I did before.  But
I'm riskin' one thing, Hennery: I'm near shore she
ain't got nothin' ag'in' you; an' on th' way out,
when I refers to you she speaks up quicklike, with
her nose turned up a little, an' says: 'Henry
Williams?  Why, he'll be a rich man some day, when his
uncle dies.  Ain't some folks born lucky, Mr. Jones?'
Hennery, there ain't none of 'em that are overlookin' th'
good old pesos, U.S.  You keep right on like you are;
an' save me a front seat at th' weddin'."

Henry sat back, buried in thought.  He glanced
at the huddled figure near the door and then looked
quickly into his companion's bland eyes.  "Her
brother's dead set ag'in' it.  He knows he done me
a dirty trick, stealin' my job, an' like lots of folks,
instead of hatin' hisself, he hates me.  Human
nature's funny that way.  So he can't hit a box, hey?"

Tex chuckled and nodded.  "He up an' says he's
so plumb disgusted with hisself that he ain't never
goin' to tote a gun again, not never.  Seems to me
yo're doin' a lot of foolish worryin' about losin' that
job.  That ain't no job to worry about.  If I was
Gus Williams' only relation, you wouldn't see me
lookin' for no jobs!  You shore got th' wrong idea,
Hennery.  What do you want to work for, anyhow?"

"Well," considered the nephew of the uncle who
some day would die, "that is one way of lookin' at
it; but, Tex, he did me out of it.  That's what's
rilin' me!"

Tex leaned back and laughed heartily.  "Hennery,
you make me laugh!  If I got mad an' riled at every
dog that barked at me I'd be plumb soured for life
by this time.  A man like you should be above
holdin' grudges ag'in' fellers like Saunders.  It ain't
worth th' risk of spoilin' yore disposition.  Let him
have his dried-out bone: you would 'a' dropped it
quick enough, anyhow.  An' if it wasn't for him
gettin' that two-by-nothin' old job you wouldn't
never 'a' seen his sister, would you?  Ever think about
it like that?  Well, what you think?  Had I better try
to go ridin' with her ag'in an' git her to talkin'?  Or
shall I set back an' only keep my eyes an' ears open?"

"What's interestin' you so much in this here
affair?" questioned Henry, his glance resting for a
moment on the face of his companion.

"Well, I ain't got that letter," confessed Tex,
slyly; "an' what's more, I'm afraid I ain't goin' to
get it, neither, th' coyote.  He lets me come out here,
near th' end of th' track, an' then lets me hold th'
sack.  Time's comin' when I'll be needin' a job; an'
yo're aces-up with yore uncle."  He grinned
engagingly.  "My cards is face up.  I got to look
out for myself."

Henry laughed softly.  "You shore had me
puzzled," he replied.  "Well, we'll see what we see.
I don't hardly know, yet, what kind of a job you
ought to have.  There's good jobs, an' poor jobs.
An' while I think of it, Tex, you'd mebby better go
ridin' with her ag'in.  But don't you forget what I
was sayin' about there bein' other ways than
gun-throwin' in Windsor.  I----"

The low hum of conversation about them ceased
as abruptly as did Henry's words.  He was looking
at the door, and sensing danger, Tex pushed back
quietly and followed his companion's gaze.  Jake,
under the influence of liquor, stood in the doorway,
a gun in his upraised hand, staring with unbelieving
eyes at the body of Bud Haines.

"Stop that fool!" whispered Tex.  "I've done too
much killin' today: an' he's drunk!"

Henry arose and walked quietly, swiftly toward
the vengeful miner, who now turned and looked
about the room.  A spasm of rage shot through him
and his hand chopped down, but Henry knocked it
aside and the heavy bullet scored the wall.  Two
men near the door leaped forward at the nephew's
call and after a short struggle, Jake was disarmed,
pacified, and sent on his way again.

Tex dropped his gun back into the holster and
went up to the nephew.  "Much obliged, Hennery,"
he said.  "I've been expectin' him most every minute
an' I'm glad you handled it so good.  Where's he
been keepin' hisself, anyhow?"

"Out in his cabin, nursin' his grudge," answered
Henry.  "He's one of them kind.  He's got it chalked
up ag'in' you, Tex, an' it'll smolder an' smolder, no
tellin' how long.  Then it'll bust out ag'in, like it
did just now.  Keep out of his way--he's a good
man, Jake is.  He's a friend of mine."

"That's good enough for me," Tex assured him.
"I ain't got no grudge ag'in' Jake.  It's th' other
way 'round.  Reckon I'll put up my cayuse.  See
you later."





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.. _`EMPTY HONORS`:

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   CHAPTER XI


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   EMPTY HONORS

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The dramatic death of Bud Haines created a
ripple of excitement in Windsor which ran a
notch higher than any killing of recent years.  The
late gunman posed as a gunman, swaggeringly,
exultantly.  Himself a contributor of victims to Boot
Hill, his going there aroused a great deal more
satisfaction than resentment.  He was unmourned,
but not unsung, and the question raised by his passing
concerned the living more than the dead.  How
would his conqueror behave?

Bud was an out-and-out killer, cold, dispassionate,
calculating; one whose gun was for hire and salary.
He had no sympathy, no softer side to his nature, if
his fellow-townsmen knew him right.  The crooked
mouth, grown into a lop-sided sneer, had been a
danger signal to everyone who saw him, and through
his up-to-then invincible gun Williams had passed
his days in confidence, his nights in sleep.  He had
been taciturn, unsmiling, grim, and the few words
he occasionally uttered were never cryptic.  On the
other hand Tex Jones was voluble, talked loosely
and foolishly and had shown signs at poker that his
courage was not what it should be to wrap the mantle
of the fallen man about him and play his part; but
had it been truly shown?  Was his poker playing a
true index to his whole nature?  There was his brief,
high-speed, complete mastery over Jake, himself a
man bad enough to merit wholesome respect; there
was the cool killing of Bud, and the nonchalant
actions of the victor after the tragedy.  He scarcely had
given his victim a second look.

This question, as all questions do, provided
argument.  Gus Williams, sullen and morose at losing a
valuable man in whose fidelity he could place full
trust, and on whose prowess his own power largely
rested, maintained that Tex Jones had pulled the
trigger mechanically, and that it had been for him a
lucky accident.  His nephew took issue with him and
paid his new companion full credit.  The miners were
about evenly divided, while Carney openly exulted
and made the victory his principal topic of conversation.
It helped him in another way, for there are
some who blindly follow a champion, and the Windsor
champion kept his horse and spent many of his spare
hours at Carney's.  John Graves sighed with relief at
Bud's passing, due to an old score he had feared
would be reopened, and he urged the appointment of
Tex Jones for city marshal, a position hitherto
unfilled in Windsor.  Carney was for this heart and soul,
and offered a marshal's office rent free.  It was a
lean-to adjoining his saloon.

The railroad element breathed easier now.  Tim
Murphy wanted to bet on the new man against
anyone, at any style, and he glowed with pride as he
realized that he, perhaps, was nearer to Tex Jones
than any man in town.  He had no trouble in persuading
Costigan to look with warm favor on the successor
to Bud Haines.  Jerry Saunders, remembering a bit
of gun practice, said he was not surprised and he
exulted secretly.  Tex Jones had been the first man
outside of the railroad circle to give him a kind word
and to show friendship; but he had little to say about
it after the door of his home closed upon him.

Jerry's sister puzzled him.  He saw traces of tears,
strange moods came over her which swept her from
gaiety to black despondency in the course of an hour
or two, and no matter how he figured, he could not
understand her.  The story of how the affair had
started and of Tommy Watkins' part in it made her
moods more complex and unfathomable.  Jane, he
decided, was not only peculiar, but downright foolish.
Bud Haines, being but a free member of Williams'
own body, executing his wishes and the wishes of the
detestable nephew, had been an evil whose potentiality
could only be conjectured.  He had been swept
off the board and his conqueror was at heart very
friendly to the Saunders family.  They no longer were
the most helpless people in town.

When Jerry had gone home on the day of the
tragedy he had been full of the exploit, for Murphy
and he had discussed it from every angle, and he
had absorbed a great deal of the big Irishman's open
delight.

Stunned at first, Jane flatly refused to talk about
it, and had fled from the supper table to her room.
Later on when he had cautiously broached the subject
again, quoting the enthusiastic Murphy almost
entirely, to show that his own opinions were well
founded, she had listened to all he had to say, but
had remained dumb.  The evening was anything but
pleasant and he had gone to bed in an unconcealed
huff.  She gave credit to Watkins but withheld it
from Jones, who had earned it all.  "D--n women,
anyhow," had been his summing up.

The following morning he ate a silent breakfast
and hurried to the station as he would flee to an
oasis from the open desert.  He found Tim waiting
for him, eager to talk it all over again.

Hardly had the station been opened when Tex rode
up, leaped from the magnificent roan, and sauntered
to the door.  His face was grave, his manner dignified
and calm.  "How'd'y, boys," he said in greeting.

"Proud I am this mornin'," beamed Murphy, his
thick, huge hand closing over the lean, sinewy one
of the gunman.  "'Twas a fine job ye done, Tex,
my boy; an' a fine way ye did it!  Gave th' beast th'
first shot!  There's not another man could do it."

"There's plenty could," answered Tex.  "I can
name two, an' there's many more.  I'm no gunman,
understand: I'm just plain Tex Jones.  But I didn't
come here to hold any pow-pow--I'm wonderin' if
you'd let me look in th' toolhouse--I might 'a' left
it there when we loaded th' hand car."

"An' what's 'it'?" asked Murphy.

"My knife."

"Come along then," said the section-boss, swinging
his keys and leading the way.  They found no
knife, but Murphy was given some information which
he considered worth while.  As they reached the
station door again Tex burst out laughing.

"I know where it is!  Cuss me for a fool, I left it
in Carney's stable, stickin' in th' side of th' harness
closet.  Oh, well; there's no harm done."  He turned
to Jerry.  "I wonder if Miss Saunders would like
another bit of practice today?"

Jerry's face clouded.  No matter how much he
might admire Bud Haines' master in the late Bud's
profession of gun-throwing, and no matter how much
he might admire him for sundry other matters,
nevertheless none of them qualified the new-found friend as
an aspirant for his sister's hand.  He did not wish to
offend Tex, and certainly he did not want his enmity.
To him came Jane's inexplicable behavior and in
coming it brought an inspiration.  Jane, he thought, could
handle this matter far better than he could.

"She didn't seem to be feeling well this morning,"
he answered.  "Still, I never guess right about her.
If you feel like riding again, go up and ask her."

"I hear there's some talk about them makin' you
marshal of this town," said Tim.  "Don't you shelve
it.  This town needs a fair man in that job.  It's been
quiet of late, but ye can't allus tell.  Wait till th'
rains come an' start th' placerin' a-goin'.  They'll
have money to spend, then, an' trouble is shore to
follow that.  You take that job, Tex."

Jerry nodded eagerly, pointed to some bullet holes
in the frame of one of the windows of the office and,
grasping Tex by the arm, led him closer to the
window.  "See that bullet hole in there, just over the
table an' below the calendar?  The first shot startled
me and made me drop my pen--I stooped to pick it
up.  When I sat up again there was a hole in the
glass and under the calendar.  When I stooped I
saved my life.  Just a drunken joke, a miner feeling
his oats.  One dead man a week was under the
average.  This town, under normal conditions, is a
little bit out of h--l.  Take that job, Jones: the town
needs you."

Tex laughed.  "You better wait till it's offered to
me, Jerry.  There's quite some people in this town
that don't want any marshal.  Gus Williams is the
man to start it."

"He will," declared Tim.  "Bud was his bodyguard,
but he was more.  Williams has a lot of
property to be protected, an' now Bud is gone, th'
saints be praised.  He'll start it."

While they spoke, a miner was seen striding toward
the station and soon joined them.  "How'd'y," he
said, carelessly, glancing coldly at Tim and Jerry.
His eyes rested on Tex and glowed a little.  "Th'
boss wants to talk with you, Jones.  Come a-runnin'."

"Come a-runnin'," rang in Tex's ears and it did
not please him.  If he was going to be the city
marshal it would be well to start off right.

"Th' boss?" he asked nonplused.

"Shore; Gus--Gus Williams," rejoined the messenger
crisply and with a little irritation.  "You
know who I mean.  Git a move on."

"Mr. Jones' compliments to Mr. Williams," replied
Tex with exaggerated formality, "an' say that
Mr. Jones will call on him at Mr. Jones' convenience.
Just at present I'm very busy--good day to you, sir."

The miner stood stock-still while he reviewed the
surprising words.

Tex ignored him.  "No," he said, "I ain't lookin'
for no change in th' weather till th' moon changes,"
he explained to the two railroad men.  "But, of
course, you know th' old sayin': 'In times of drought
all signs fail.'  An' there never was a truer one.  I
wouldn't be surprised if it rained any day; an' when
it comes it's goin' to rain hard.  Still, I ain't exactly
lookin' for it, barrin' the sayin', till th' moon changes.
That's my prophecy, gents; you wait an' see if I ain't
right.  Well, I reckon I'll be amblin'.  Good day."

They watched him walk to the roan, throw the
reins over an arm, and lead it slowly down the
street, followed by the conjecturing messenger.  Tex
Jones evidently was in no hurry, for he stopped in
two places before entering the hotel, and in there he
remained for a quarter of an hour.  When premature
congratulations were offered him he accepted them
with becoming modesty and explained that he was not
yet appointed.

Gus Williams looked up with some irritation when
the door opened and admitted Tex into the store.
The newcomer leaned against the counter, nodded to
Gus and grinned at Henry.  "Hear you want to see
me about somethin'," he said, flickering dust from his
boots with a softly snapping handkerchief.

"What made you shoot Bud Haines?" growled the
proprietor, turning on the stepladder against the
shelves.

Tex shook his head in befitting sorrow.  "I shore
didn't want to shoot Bud," he answered slowly.  "Bud
hadn't never done nothin' to me; but," he explained,
wearily, "he just made me do it.  I dassn't let him
shoot twice, dast I?"

Williams growled something and replaced several
articles of merchandise.

"Hennery says you had to do it," he grudgingly
admitted.  "I reckon mebby you did--*but*, I don't see
why you went at Bud like that, in th' first place."

"I aimed to stop a killin'," muttered Tex, contritely;
"an', instead of doin' it, I went an' made one.
I ain't none surprised," he said, sighing resignedly,
"for I generally play in bad luck.  Ever since I shot
that black cat, up at Laramie, I've had bad luck--not
that I'm what you might call superstitious," he
quickly and defiantly explained.

"Well, a man can't allus help things like that,"
admitted Williams.  "I had streaks of luck that
looked like they never would peter out."  He shifted
several articles, leaned back to study their
arrangement, and slowly continued.  "You see, Bud had a
job that ain't very common; an' men like Bud ain't
very common, neither.  He allus was plumb grateful
because I saved his life once in a--stampede," he
naively finished.  "I got a lot of valuable property
in this here town, and Windsor gets quite lively
when th' placerin' is going good.  I shore feel sort
of lost without Bud."  He wiped his dusty hands on
his trousers and slowly climbed down.  "Now, I
remembered that Scrub Oak an' Willow both has
peace officers, an' Windsor shore ain't taking a back
seat from towns like them.  Hennery was sayin' that
folks here sort of been talkin' about a city marshal,
an' mentionin' you for th' office.  We ought to have
our valuable property pertected, an' me, bein' the
owner of most of th' valuable property here an'
hereabouts, nat'rally leans to that idea; but, bein' th'
biggest owner of valuable property, I sort of got to
look the man over purty well before I appoint him.
I got to have a good man, a man that'll pertect th'
most property first.  What you think about it?"

Tex removed his sombrero, turned it over slowly
in his hands and stared at its dents.  Punching them
out and pushing in new ones, he gravely considered
them.  "Well," he drawled, "you see, if that letter
comes--I don't know how long I'm goin' to stay in
town; but if I did stay, I'd shore do my damndest to
pertect property, an' you havin' the most of it, you'd
nat'rally be pertected more'n others that had less."

Williams glanced swiftly at his nephew.  "You
still expectin' that letter, Jones?" he slyly demanded.

Tex hesitated and turned the hat over again.
"Can't hardly say I am," he admitted, frowning at
Henry.  "But there's a sayin' that hope springs
infernal--an' I reckon that's th' h--l of it; a man
never knows when to quit waitin' for it to spring.
Meanwhile I got to eat--an' I like a game of poker
once in awhile.  Here, tell you what--I'll take the job
as long as I can hold it, if the pay is right.  What
you reckon the job's worth, in a lawless, desperate
town like this, where no man's life or property is
worth very much?"

Williams scowled.  "This here town ain't lawless
an' desperate," he denied.  "There ain't a more
peaceable town in Kansas!"

"Which same ain't payin' no compliments to
Kansas towns, once the rains come," chuckled Tex.
"I'm admirin' your humor, Mr. Williams--I ain't
never heard dryer," he beamed in frank admiration.
"But, wet or dry, there's allus them mean low-down
cow-wrastlers comin' to town to likker up--an' them
an' miners are as friendly as a badger and a dog.
Let's name over them as would want the pertection
of a marshal, an' then figger how much they'd sweeten
the pot.  Take Carney, now--he ought to be willin'
to ante up han'some, his business bein' so healthy."

"Carney," sneered Williams in open contempt.
"Huh!  Here, gimme that pencil an' that old
envelope!"  He worked laboriously, revised the figures
several times and then looked up.  "I reckon two
hundred a month ought to be enough.  Scrub Oak
pays that--Willow does likewise.  You got your
outfit.  We furnish th' office, ammernition, an' pay
extra expenses.  That's th' best Windsor can do.
Yore office will be next door to this store."

Tex looked questioningly at Henry, who nodded
decisively, and carefully put the hat back on his
head.  "All right," he said.  "When do I start in?"

"Right now," answered Williams, fumbling under
the counter.  "We ain't got no marshal's badge, but
I got a sheriff's star somewhere around.  He was
killed up on Buffaler Crick last spring.  Yep--here
it is: this'll do for awhile.  Lean over here, Marshal,"
he chuckled.  "There: It ain't every marshal that's
a sheriff, too."  Smiling at Henry he said, jokingly,
"Now let her rain!"

Tex nodded.  "Let it come," he said.  "Everybody
that deserves it will have a slicker ag'in' th' rain.  As
marshal I'm playin' no favorites--there's no strings
to a city marshal.  My job's to keep th' peace of
Windsor, an' let th' devil whistle."  He smiled
enigmatically, hitched up his belt, and then looked at
Henry.  "You know where Bud's belt an' gun are?"

Henry nodded.  "Baldy's got 'em, behind th' bar.
Want 'em?"

"Yes," answered Tex, slowly turning.  "When it
starts rainin', two guns will keep me on an even keel.
My left hand feels empty-like.  Reckon I'll go git
Bud's outfit an' have th' harness-maker turn th'
holster so it'll set right for th' left side; or mebby
he's got a cavalry sheath, which won't need so much
changin'."

"But you ought to have a rifle heavier than a .38
short," suggested Gus Williams.  "That ain't no gun
for this country."

Tex smiled.  "For town use that's plenty heavy
enough.  But we won't argue about that because I
ain't got it no more.  I swapped with that section-boss,
paying him fifteen dollars to-boot.  To a thick
Mick like him there ain't much difference between
a .38 short and a .45-90.  He can't use either one
worth a cuss, anyhow.  I'd say I was lucky stumblin'
on him."  He turned and walked toward the door,
glanced up at the cloudless sky, and chuckled.  "No
signs of rain, yet.  Oh, well; it'll come when it gets
here.  *Adios*," and the slow steps of the walking roan
grew softer down the street.

The harness-maker looked from the belt and holster
to an up-ended box and waved at the latter.  "Set
down, Mr. Jones.  'Twon't take a minute, but you
might as well set.  Many a one I've turned.  A new
cut here, a new strap, an' a scallop out of th' top
on th' other side so yore fingers'll close on th' butt
first thing.  Let's see th' other.  Yep; deep cut down
to th' guard.  Now, if I put it back on th' belt at th'
same place, it'll throw th' buckle around back--all
right, then.  They won't match each other, but that
don't make no difference, I reckon.  Ain't there been
some talk of appointin' you city marshal?"

Tex nodded.  "This star was th' only one they
had," he explained.

"Well, you may be workin' both jobs afore long if
Gus Williams has th' say-so," commented the
harness-maker.  "Funny, but I never work on a gun sheath
but I think of th' one I made to order for Jack Slade
after he got around ag'in from Old Jules' shotgun.
Jack blamed it on his holster, an' it shore made him
particular.  That was back in Old Julesburg when I
was a harness-apprentice there.  Soon after that he
was sent up to take charge of th' Rocky Ridge
division of th' stage line, which was th' worst division
of th' whole line.  Holdups was a reg'lar thing.  They
soon stopped after he took charge.  He was th' best
man with a short gun I ever saw.  I heard that he
wore that holster to th' day th' vigilantes got him,
up in Virginia City, Montanny.  Now, Mr. Marshal,
strap this on you an' see if th' gun comes out right.
Sometimes they got to be shaped a little mite--ah,
that looks all right.  Reckon it'll do?"

With the newly acquired belt hanging over the old
one, sloping loosely from the right hip across his
body to a point below the left, the marshal went out,
mounted the roan, and rode carelessly down to the
toolshed, where he told Murphy of his appointment
and of the fictitious swapping of rifles, and then went
up to the station.  As he neared it Jerry came out
of the door, caught the flash of the sun on the
nickel-plated star and turned, grinning, to await the coming
of the new marshal.

"That looks mighty good to the station agent,"
Jerry laughed.  "An' so you're wearin two guns
instead of one?  Gosh, that looks business-like!"

Tex reined in and grinned down at him.  "Any time
you feel urged to shoot up th' town, Mr. Agent, you'll
find out that it is business-like.  Better start by
gettin' th' marshal first: it'll be a lot safer, that way."

"That's good advice, and I won't forget it,"
replied Jerry.  "I'll notify the company of your
appointment.  That ought to make it feel good, and it
might want to pay its share of your salary.  I'm
certainly wishing you luck."

"I may be needin' it," responded the marshal.
"Reckon I'll go on to th' house an' show off my new
bright an' shinin' star."  He glanced down at the
badge and grinned.  "Seein' how you reads 'Sheriff'
instead of 'Marshal' she'll mebby wonder what you
are.  So-long, Jerry!"

Reaching the little house, Tex swung gravely off
Omar and proceeded to the door in mock dignity.
Knocking heavily, he assumed a stern demeanor and
waited.  When the door opened he removed his
sombrero, bowed, and grinned.  "Behold the Law,
Miss Saunders, in the person of the marshal of
Windsor."

"I congratulate you, Marshal," she coldly replied.
"Doubtless you may now take life with legal authority.
It is too bad it comes a little late."

"I did not need legal authority, Miss Saunders, if
I rightly interpret your remark," he rejoined.  "The
authority of Nature ever precedes and transcends it.
Self-preservation is the first law.  He fired, and I did
not dare let him fire again."

"You provoked his attack!" she flashed.  "He
could do nothing else."

"That was because I preferred to risk his life than
the certainty of him taking that of Tommy Watkins,
who was being deliberately baited.  Bud lost his rights
when he drew his gun against an unsuspecting man.
I am sorry if you look upon the unfortunate incident
in any other light; but I am so sure of my position
that I would repeat it today under the same conditions.
Besides I am naturally prejudiced against assassins."

"Why did you give him his gun before he had
time to master his anger?" she demanded, her eyes
flashing.

"Because I wanted to show him how impersonal
my interference was, and to help smooth over a tense
situation.  It was one of those high-tension moments
when a false move might easily precipitate a
shambles.  There were a dozen armed men in the room,
a ratio of ten to two.  I followed my best judgment.
I am not apologizing, Miss Saunders, even to you;
I am merely explaining the situation as it existed.
When Bud Haines drew his gun from the side to
shoot a man who did not know of his danger, he
broke our rules.  I would have been justified in
shooting him down at the move.  Instead I tried to
stop his shot and give him a way out of it."  While
he spoke his right hand had risen to his belt and now
hung there by a crooked thumb, a position he was
in the habit of assuming when he spoke earnestly.

She glanced down at it involuntarily, shuddered, and
slowly closed the door.

"I am very sorry, Mr. Jones, but--" the closing
of the door ended the conversation for both.

He studied the warped, weather-beaten panel and
the white, china knob for a full minute, and then
slowly replaced his hat and slowly walked back to his
horse.  Patting the silky neck he shook his head.
"Omar, it's been comin' to me for twenty years--but
it might have waited till I really deserved it.  Come
on--we'll go back to th' herd, where we belong."

Thoughtfully he rode away, his face older and
sterner, its lines seemingly a little deeper.





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.. _`CLOSER FRIENDSHIPS`:

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   CHAPTER XII


.. class:: center medium bold

   CLOSER FRIENDSHIPS

.. vspace:: 2

In the selection of the marshal's office Williams was
overruled and rather than make a contest of it, since
he could not deny the economy in using a building
already erected, and knowing that his store was nearly as
well protected, he gave his slow assent to Carney's offer;
and soon the lean-to was cleared out, a table, some chairs,
and a rough bunk put in it, the latter at the marshal's
insistence.  Over the door were two words, newly
painted: CITY MARSHAL.  The question of a jail came
next, and was quickly solved by the addition to the
lean-to of a room constructed of two-inch planks, walls,
floor, and roof.  Two pairs of new, shining handcuffs
and a new badge, appropriately labeled, completed the
civic improvements in the way of law and order.  All
prisoners guilty of major offenses were to be taken down
to Willow and there tried; while minor offenders could
sit in the jail until a suitable time had elapsed.

From his chair in the door of his office, Tex could
keep watch of nearly all of the main street, and the trail
leading in from the C Bar for half a mile.  The end of
his first week as peace officer found him in his favorite
place, contentedly puffing on his pipe, despite the heat of
the day.  A few miners straggled past, grinning and
exchanging shafts of heavy wit with the smiling officer.
Blascom drifted into town a little later, learned of the
appointment, and hurried down from the hotel to
congratulate his new friend.

Tex reached behind him and pulled a chair outside the
door.  "Sit down, Blascom," he invited.  "How's th'
sump comin' along?"

Blascom glanced around before replying.  "I'm sorry
you ain't sheriff, as well," he replied.  "I reckon I'm out
of bounds, out there on Buffalo, an' I'm shore to be
rushed if I'm figgerin' right on that crick.  Anybody in
th' new jail?"

"Not yet," smiled Tex.  "Talk low an' nobody'll hear
you.  Strike somethin'?"

"I'll gamble on it.  I'm so shore of it, I'm filin' a new
claim: th' old one didn't quite cover it.  You know where
th' sump's located, of course; an' you remember how
rapid it filled up with water every time I tried to bail it
out?"

Tex nodded and waved carelessly at the C Bar trail as
though discussing something far from placering.  "Send
th' location papers off through Jerry Saunders--tell him
they're from me.  Ever follow a trail herd day after
day?" he asked.

"No; why?"

"Ever do anythin', out here, except minin'?"

"Shore; why?"

"What was it?"

"Freightin' from Atchison to Denver an' back: why?"

"Then yo're tellin' me about it now," prompted Tex,
handing him a cleaning rod.  "Trace th' old trail in th'
sand an' keep referrin' to it while you talk.  You don't
know me good enough to talk long an' steady an' earnest.
Here, gimme that rod--" and the marshal took it and
drew a line.  "This end is Atchison--from there you
went up th' Little Blue, like this.  Then, crossin' that
divide south of th' Platte, you rolled down to that river
near Hook's Station, an' follered it past Ft. Kearney,
Plumb Crick, an' O'Fallon's Bluffs, an' so on.  Here's
Hook's Station, th' Fort, Plumb Crick, an' O'Fallon's--now
you go on with it."

Blascom took the rod and finished the great curve.  "As
I was sayin', th' water in that sump kept me guessin'.  I
couldn't figger where it all come from.  I had tried for
sumps nearer to th' shack, of course, but got nothin'.
Then I found water a-plenty when I dug *this* one."  He
jabbed at Ft. Kearney and waved his other arm.  "I
kept gettin' curiouser all th' time, an' yesterday, when th'
idea hit me all of a sudden, I went back down th' crick
bed twenty paces an' started diggin'.  No water; an' yet,
sixty feet up stream was more'n I could handle.  I just
sat down an' wrastled it out."

Tex leaned over and drew another line, one starting
on the great curve.  "Th' Salt Lake branch run up here,
didn't it, Blascom?  Th' ones th' troops used, near Old
Julesburg, goin' out to lick th' Mormons?"

"How'd you come to know so much about that old
trail?" demanded the miner.  "It shore did--an' it was
a bad section for stages.  Well, I cut me a pinted stick
an' after it got dark I went out an' jabbed it inter th'
crick bed between th' wet sump an' th' last one I put
down.  About five feet below th' wet one I hit rock, not
more'n six inches under th' sand, an' it sloped sharp,
both ways, I'm tellin' you.  Sort of a sharp hog-back, it
is.  Humans are blasted fools, Marshal: we can set right
on top of a thing that's fair yellin' to be seen, an' not
know it's there till somethin' knocks it inter our fool
heads.  Do you know what I got up there at that sump?"

Tex shook his head and grabbed the stick, a trace of
vexation on his face.  "You got it all wrong, Blascom,"
he declared loudly, drawing another line.  "Th' old,
original Oregon Trail never went up th' Rocky Ridge
a-tall.  It followed th' North Fork of th' Platte, all th'
way to Ft. Laramie.  It crossed th' river at Forty Islands,
about twelve miles south of th' Fort.  I crossed it there
with a herd, myself.  If you don't believe me, ask
Hawkins--he was apprenticed to th' harness-maker at
Old Julesburg, on th' South Fork."

"I got you there," laughed Blascom.  "Th' Oregon
Trail didn't cross at Forty Islands; but a lot of trail herds
did.  There was a waggin ferry at th' Fort that th' chuck
waggins often used."

"It crossed either at Forty Islands or between 'em an'
th' Fort," asserted Tex.

"Well, mebby yo're right, Marshal," admitted Blascom.
He took the rod again.  "That sump of mine is
located in a rocky basin that's full of sand.  Th'
downstream side is that hog-back.  That means that there's a
thunderin' big, natural riffle in th' bed of th' crick, an'
it's stopped and held th' sand till th' basin was full.
Every freshet that comes along riles that sand up, lots of
it bein' washed over th' riffle, an' carried along.  More
sand settles there as th' water quits rushin'; but here's
th' pint."  He jabbed at Denver and drew a line into the
Gilpin County country, stopping at Central City.  "Gold
is heavy, an' it don't wash over riffles if it can settle down
in front of 'em.  While th' sand is soft from bein'
disturbed by a strong current, it can settle.  Ever since that
crick has been a crick, gold has been settlin' in front of
that riffle, droppin' down through th' sand till it hit th'
rock bottom.  Great Jehovah, Marshal--can you figger
what I got?"

Tex roughly took the cleaning rod, traced a line in
sudden vexation, slammed the rod on the floor behind
him, and fanned his face with his hat.

"An' how long you been settin' on that?" he asked in
weary hopelessness.

Blascom waved his arms and slumped back against the
chair.  "Three years," he confessed, and went off into
a profane description of his intelligence that left nothing
to imagination.

Tex laughed heartily.  "If you was as bad as you just
said I'd shore have to take you in.  Cheer up, man: it's
there, ain't it?  You only have to git it out."

Blascom looked at him reproachfully.  "Shore: that's
all," he retorted with sarcasm.  "Git it out before th'
rain starts again, an' do it without Jake catchin' me at it!
If he learns what I got, I'm in for no sweet dreams; an'
if this starvin' bunch of gold hunters learn about it, I'll
be swamped in th' rush!  Good Lord, man!  It'll take
me a week to git th' water out, an' then there's th' sand!"

Tex stretched, caught sight of a rider bobbing along
the C Bar trail and looked reflectively at Williams'
Mecca.  "You got to get some dynamite or blastin'
powder.  Dynamite's better.  Put some sticks on th'
down-stream side of that rock riffle an' wait till Jake comes into
town.  You crack that riffle open an' th' water will move
out for you.  Then you can dig down th' other face of it
an' get to th' pocket a lot quicker."  He laughed
suddenly.  "Do that blastin'.  Then when Jake gets back to
his shack, saunter over with a jug of whiskey an' forget
to take it home with you.  That'll give you a solid week
for yore diggin' without him botherin' you."

"Good idea," said Blascom, arising.  "I'll go over an'
see if Williams has got any sticks.  That's th' way to
handle it, Marshal.  You ever do any prospectin'?"

Tex pushed him back again.  "No, I ain't; but I've
been doin' a lot of thinkin' these days.  Sit still.  What
does a miner want explosives for?  To get gold, of course.
Bein' a placer worker don't make no difference: th'
connection is there, just th' same.  It'll only make 'em that
much more curious.  You go buyin' any dynamite an'
th' parade will start for yore place before night.  I'd get
it for you, only me not havin' no reason to buy th' stuff,
it would be near as big a mistake as you buyin' it.  *I*
ain't got no call to want any dynamite.  Sit still: you
ain't in no hurry!" He leaned over and put his finger
on the map in the sand.  "They hit Ft. Hall about here,"
he explained.  "We got to get somebody that ain't
connected with you, gold diggin', or Buffalo Crick, that
won't make no troublesome connections.  They usually
left their waggins at Ft. Hall an' went up this way.  If
this feller comin' down th' trail is young Watkins, an'
I'm sayin' he is, we got th' way.  I reckon he can buy
dynamite for th' ranch.  That'll be all right, but suppose
somebody else from that outfit comes ridin' in an' gets
pumped dry?  Lean back, stick yore feet on th' Overland,
an' don't look so cussed tense.  Here: I got it!  Th'
railroad uses dynamite!  I shore got it, Blascom.  Tim
Murphy can buy it as innocent as you can buy chewin'
tobacco!"

"But I don't know him well enough!" expostulated
Blascom.  "Anyhow, what excuse can I give him?"

"None at all," said Tex.  "Wait till yore feet are in th'
stirrups before you spur a hoss!  You don't have to know
him.  *I* know him, an' that's a-plenty.  Here, you listen
close to every word I say, an' act careless-like while yo're
doin' it."  The explicit directions were rich in details,
but Blascom soaked them into his memory like water in
a sponge.  "Th' whole thing is gettin' to him nat'ral, an'
then gettin' th' stuff from him afterward," Tex wound
up.  Thoughtful for a moment, he nodded in sudden
decision.  "Got it ag'in!  It's near train time.  You, bein'
restless an' lonesome, hanker to watch it come in.  Th'
Lord knows nobody in towns like this ever needs any
excuse to see a train come in.  That's one of th' idle man's
inalienable rights--an' it seldom weakens.  An' now I
know how yo're goin' to git it from him afterwards: you
listen ag'in," and further directions came in rapid-fire
order.

The rider was near enough now to dispel all doubts as
to his identity.  Blascom arose, gripped the marshal's
hand and faced the Mecca.

"I'm goin' over to git a jug: much obliged, Marshal."  He
crossed the street diagonally and disappeared in the
store.

The rider came nearer and nearer, a great dust cloud
rolling behind him not much unlike the smoke of a
moving locomotive.  When even with Carney's he drew rein
suddenly and in another moment had dismounted in front
of the lazy Tex.

"I'll be cussed!" he exclaimed, staring from Tex to
the sign over the door and then back at the new peace
officer, cocking his head as he read the badge.

"Good for you!" he cried.  "It's about time this dog's
town had a white man to run it; an' they couldn't 'a'
picked a better, neither!"  His enthusiasm ebbed a little
and he looked curiously and thoughtfully into the
marshal's eyes.  "How'd you come to get th' job?" he
demanded.

Tex stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his vest and
grinned.  He knew the thought that had sobered his
companion's face.  "Pop'lar clamor, Thomas; 'an' all
that sort of a thing,' as Whitby used to say.  My great
popularity an' my pleasin' nature an' disposition, not to
mention my good looks an' winnin' ways, seem to have
turned th' balance in my favor.  But, outside of that I
don't know why I got it.  Carney thought I'd mebby
bring him more trade; Williams mourned th' lack of
anybody to give him adequate police protection, an' th'
harness-maker mentions Jack Slade.  He admires Jack
Slade, an' says I remind him of that person by th' way
I let him fix up my left-hand holster.  That suits me
because Slade was lynched."

"Then Williams really made th' play stick?" Tommy
asked with poorly concealed suspicion.

"Williams pinned on my nickel-plated authority," said
Tex.  "Nobody else had one.  He reckons I'm wearin'
his colors; but, my Christian friend, th' only colors th'
new marshal wears are his own.  I'm to keep order in
'this dog's town,' as you put it, an' I'm goin' to do it.
Miners, railroaders, storekeepers, cattlemen, an' ornery
punchers please listen an' be enlightened.  Th' badge is
only a nickel-plate affair; but there ain't no nickel, nor
rust, neither, on my Cyclopean twins.  They're my real
authority.  Now, then, don't walk all over Blascom's
Overland Trail, but set down in th' chair he just vacated.
Tell me all about yoreself."

"Marshal," began Tommy in some embarrassment, "I
didn't get th' hang of that little mix-up in th' hotel till
I got quite some distance out of town.  My head was
whirlin' a little, an' I'm nat'rally stupid, anyhow.  I just
want to say that yo're wrong about them Colts bein'
some kind of twins.  Mebby they are durin' these
peaceful days; but if things get crowded they'll turn into
triplets, th' missin' brother bein' right here on my laig.
Besides that, you got a craggy lot of deputies out on th'
C Bar any time you need 'em.  Don't stop me while I'm
runnin' free!  I'm sayin' I never saw a squarer, cleaner
piece of shootin' than you showed us all in th' hotel th'
other day.  An'--you keep off th' trail while I'm comin'
strong!--an' I've been somethin' of a fool about us an'
that little lady.  From now on I'm afoot where she's
concerned, an' you know what us punchers amount to,
afoot."

"I'm glad you said you was stupid," replied Tex.  "It
saves me from sayin' it, an' comin' from me it might
sound sorta official."  He glanced up the street and back
to his companion.  "Yo're not afoot, cowboy; yo're
ridin' strong.  I'm th' one that's afoot, an' I'll agree
with you about a cowpunch amountin' to nothin' off his
cayuse.  Did you ever have a door slammed plumb in
yore face, Tommy?"

Tommy wiped out Denver, Central City, Old Julesburg,
and Ft. Kearney with one swing of his foot.  "You--I--you
*mean* that?"

The marshal nodded.  "Every word of it.  Outlawed
steers should keep to th' draws an' brakes, Tommy.
Besides, I'm over forty-five years old, an' I never was any
parson.  Keep right on ridin', Adolescence; an' I'm
hopin' it's a plain, fair trail.  Tommy, did you ever shoot
a man?"

"Not yet I ain't; but I've come cussed near it.  Seein'
what's goin' on in this town, I has hopes."

"Don't yield to no temptations, Tommy; an' let yore
hopes die," warned the marshal.  "If there's any of that
to be done, I'll do it.  I reckon you'll shore have a easy
trail."

"I--will--be--tee-totally--d--d!" said Tommy.
He shook his head and leaned back against the front of
the office.  "Does she know all about it?"

"Everythin'; I owed myself that much," answered
Tex, and then he helped to maintain a reflective,
introspective, and emotional silence.

Blascom emerged from the Mecca with a two-gallon
jug, empty from the way it jerked and swung.  He looked
at the silent pair leaning against the marshal's office,
abruptly made up his mind, and strode over to them.

"You shore look sorrerful," he said.

"We've just been to a funeral," said Tex.  "Th'
corpse looked nat'ral, too."

"Sufferin' wildcats!" ejaculated Tommy in pretended
dismay, his chair dropping to all fours.  "Whiskey by
th' jug!  I'm plain shocked, but mighty glad to see you,
Mr. Blascom."  He turned to the marshal.  "Here, Officer!
Shake han's with Mr. Blascom, of Buffaler Crick.
Give th' gentleman a cordial welcome."

Tex regarded the newcomer and his jug with languid
interest.  "Huh!  I reckoned th' drought would shore
end some day, but I figgered on rain.  However, facts
are facts.  Pleased to meet you, sir!"  He waved at
Tommy.  "Pass it to our friend first.  It's dry work,
settin' here, listenin' to me."

"It's like workin' in pay-dirt," retorted Blascom.  He
tapped the jug and it rang out hollowly.  "I ain't give
Baldy a chance at it, yet.  Anyhow, a man's got to have
some protection ag'in' snakes," he defended.

"A protection ag'in' snakes!" repeated Tex, thoughtfully.
"Yes; he has."

"I'll pertect you ag'in' 'em as far as th' hotel," offered
Tommy, arising and whistling to his horse, "seein' as
yo're temporary defenseless.  Come on, Blascom.  See
you later, Marshal," and he grabbed at the jug, missed
it, and led the way, Tex smiling after the grinning pair.

Tommy's stride was swift and long for a puncher,
due to his agitated frame of mind, and he suddenly
slowed it to make an observation to his companion.

"Blascom, th' new marshal is shore quick on th' gun--this
town ought to be right proud of him.  I'm admittin'
that he's a reg'lar he-man."

"He's a cussed sight quicker with his head," replied
the miner, "an' that's shore sayin' a large an' bounteous
plenty.  If he don't play no favorites he's shore as h--l
goin' to need friends, one of these days.  I'm admittin'
myself to that cat-e-gory: but it'll be my hard luck to be
out on th' Buffaler when it starts."

Tommy nodded and spat emphatically.  "I'll be a cat,
an' gory, too," he affirmed.  "Wild as a wildcat, an' gory
as all h--l.  That's me!"  He glanced up quickly.
"Talkin' ceases, for here we are."  He tossed the reins
over his pony's head and followed his companion into the
hotel, where half a dozen men lounged dispiritedly.

Baldy grinned and lost no time in filling the jug, his
efforts creating pleasant, anticipatory smackings among
the dry onlookers, who from their previous unobserving
weariness suddenly snapped into Argus-eyed interest.
The alluring gurgle of the wicker-covered demijohn, the
*slap-slap, plop-plop* of the leaping, amber stream, ebbing
and flooding spasmodically up and down and around the
greenish copper funnel, truly was liquid music to their
ears, and the powerful odor of the rye diffused itself
throughout the room, penetrated the stale tobacco smoke,
and wrought positive reactions upon the olfactory
nerves of the staring audience.  It was scarce enough by
the glass, these days, yet here was a reckless Croesus
who was buying it by the gallon!

Blascom, smiling with quiet reserve, leaned against the
bar to the right of the jug; Tommy, grave and forbidding,
leaned against the bar to the left of the jug, both
making short and humorous replies to the gift-compelling
remarks of the erect crowd.  The jug at last filled,
Blascom pushed the cork in and slammed it home with a
quick, disconcertingly forbidding gesture, which was as
cruel as it was final.  He paid for the liquor with one of
the bills he had won from Tex, nodded briskly, and went
out, Tommy bringing up the rear.

Reproachful, accusing eyes followed their exit, hoping
against hope.  A lounger nearest the bar, thirsty as
Tantalus, shook his head in sorrowful condemnation.

"A man can be mean an' pe-nurious up to a certain,
limit," he observed; "but past that it's plumb shameful."

An old man, his greasy, gray beard streaked with
tobacco stains, nodded emphatically.  "There *is* limits; an'
I say that stoppin' before ye begin is shore beyond 'em!"

"Yo're dead right," spoke up a one-eyed tramp who
honored himself with the title of prospector.  "As for
me, I never *did* think much of any man as guzzles it
secret.  Show me th' man that swizzles in public, an *I'll*
show you a man as can be trusted.  Two whole gallons
of it!  A whole, bloomin' jugful, at onct!  Where'd he
git all that money?  I'm askin' you, *where'd* he git it?
On Buffaler Crick?"  His voice rose and cracked with
avarice and suspicion.

"Naw!" growled the man in the far corner, slumping
back against his chair.  "He won it from that Tex Jones
feller--th' new marshal--two hundred or more--
playin' poker.  Th' same Tex Jones as shot Bud Haines.
There ain't more'n day wages on Buffaler Crick.  I know,
'cause I been lookin' around out there, quiet-like."  He
stiffened suddenly and sat up, excitement transforming
him.  "Boys, this here marshal has got money--I saw
his wad when he an' Blascom was a-playin'."

"Yo're shore welcome to it," pessimistically rejoined
the man nearest the bar, his vivid imagination picturing
the amazing death of Bud Haines.  "Yes, sir; yo're
welcome to *all* of it.  I don't want none, a-tall!"

The discoverer of the marshal's roll regarded the
objector with deep scorn.

"That's you!" he retorted.  "Allus goin' off half-cocked,
an' yowlin' calamity!  This here marshal likes
poker, don't he?  An' he can't play it, can he?  Didn't
Blascom clean him?  He's scared to bluff, or call one, no
matter how brave he is with a gun.  Who's got any dust?
Dig down deep, an' we'll pool it, lettin' Hank an' Sinful
do th' playin' for us.  Where's Hennery?" he demanded
of the bartender.

Baldy mopped the bar and glanced at the ceiling.  "Upstairs,
sleepin' off a stem-winder.  He got drinkin' to th'
mem'ry of th' dead deceased last night--an' his mem'ry
is long an' steady.  He's too senti-mental, Hennery is,
for a man as can't handle his likker good.  If you fellers
are goin' after th' marshal's pile, I'm recommendin'
stud-hoss.  He's nat'rally scared of poker, an' stud's so fast
he won't have no time to start worryin'.  Draw will give
him too much time to think.  Better try stud-hoss," he
reiterated, unwittingly naming the form of poker at
which the marshal excelled.

"Stud-hoss she is, then," agreed Sinful, licking his
lips.  "I like stud-hoss.  We'll bait him tonight; an' we'll
all have jugs of our own by mornin', since Buffaler
Crick's settin' th' style."

The meeting forthwith went into executive session,
depleted gold sacks slowly appearing.

Outside, Blascom offered the jug to his companion,
who pushed it away, and shook his head in sudden panic.

"Don't want to smell like no saloon where I'm goin',"
he hastily explained.  "Now that yo're safe from snakes
I'll be driftin' to my cayuse."

"All right, Watkins; I'll treat next time," and the
miner, jug in hand, strode toward the station as Tommy
mounted and wheeled to ride in the direction of the
Saunders' home.

Blascom had timed his arrival to a nicety, for Murphy
was on his way from the toolshed to the station to await
the coming of the train, the smoke from which could be
seen on the eastern horizon.

Blascom held up the jug invitingly and grinned.
The section-boss came to an abrupt stop, saluted, and
stepped on again with the bearing of a well-trained
English soldier.  "Hah!" he called.  "'Tis better from
a jug; an' 'twould be better yet if it had a little breath
av th' peat fire in it; but 'tis well to be content with what
we have.  Thank ye: I'll drink yer health!"  Handing
the jug back to its owner Murphy wiped his lips with the
back of his hand and seated himself on the bench at the
prospector's side.  "Have ye seen th' new marshal?" he
asked, glancing from the distant smudge of smoke to his
watch.  "I hear he's fixed up in style."

"Yes; an' he gave me a message for you, if you'll lean
over a little closer," replied Blascom, and, as Murphy
obeyed his suggestion, he said what he had come for.

"It sounds like Tex," grunted Murphy.  "All thought
out careful.  Have ye ever used stick explosive?  It's
treacherous stuff at any time above freezin', an' more so
after this spell av hot weather.  Ye have?  Then there's
no use av me tellin' ye to handle it gintly.  If I was
knowin' th' job ye have, I might help ye in th' number
av sticks.  But if yo're used to it, ye'll know.  I'll get it
after Number Three pulls out; an' after dark tonight
ye'll find it where he said--but deal gintly with it,
Mr. Blascom.  I've seen it exploded by impact--it was a
rifle ball fired into it--this kind av weather.  Ye might
even do better to load th' shots, this kind av weather,
after th' sun goes down.  Carry it as ye find it, without
unpackin' th' box."

Blascom nodded.  "If I leave th' jug for you to put
away when you go down for th' box, would you mind
puttin' it out tonight with th' dynamite?  No use of me
makin' two trips to my cabin, an' I don't want to tote it
around till dark."

"I will that, an' be glad to.  There she comes now,
leavin' Whiterock Cut.  Casey's late ag'in; but that's
regular, an' not his fault, as I've told them time an' time
ag'in.  Th' grades are ag'in' him comin' west, an' with
his leaky packin's an' worn cylinders it's a wonder he
does as well as he has.  'Economy,' says th' super.  'No
money for repairs that are not needed on this jerk-water
line.'  I wonder does he ever figger th' fuel wasted
through them steam leaks?  An' poor Casey gets th'
blame--though divvil a bit he cares."

Number Three wheezed in, panted a moment, and
coughed on again.  Murphy took a package consigned to
him, picked up the jug and went down the track toward
the toolshed, Blascom wandering idly over to the
Railroad Saloon to pass some of the time he had on his hands.
In a little while the big Irishman, a small wooden box
under his arm, sauntered carelessly down the street,
nodded politely from a distance to the sleepy marshal and
went into the Mecca.

"Good day, Mr. Williams," he said with stiff formality.
"I'll be havin' six dynamite sticks if ye have
them, with th' same number av three-minute fuses.
Handle it gintly, if ye don't mind.  Th' weather is
aggravatin' to th' stuff, an' it's timpermental enough at
best."

Williams glowered at him.  "Don't you worry about
me handlin' it gentle, because I ain't goin' to handle it at
all.  If you want any I'll give you th' key to th'
powder-house an' wish you good luck.  Th' sun beatin' down on
that house, day after day, has got me plumb nervous.
I wish you'd come for it all!"  He shook his head.  "I
wouldn't let you even open th' door if it wasn't for
gettin' that much more of it out of th' way."

"Is it ventilated well?" demanded Murphy, smiling a
little.

"As well as it can be," sighed Williams.  "You'll
never catch me carryin' anythin' but powder over th'
summer any more.  I'm afraid a thunderclap will set it
off every storm.  What you got in that to pack it in?"

"Sawdust.  While yo're cuttin' th' fuses I'll be gettin'
th' stuff."

"You'll not come back for any fuses!  Wait an' take
em' with you!  An' when you are through with th'
powder-house, throw th' key close to th' back door: I
don't want no man with six sticks of dynamite hangin'
around this store today.  Want a bill?"

Murphy nodded.  "Two av them is th' rule av th'
company.  You can mark 'em paid an' take it out av
this."

The receipted bills in his pocket, he threw the fuses
over his shoulder, their wickedly shining copper caps
carefully wrapped in a handkerchief, took up the bunch
of keys and the box, and grinned.  "If ye hear an
explosion out back, ye needn't come out to gimme any help.
I'm cleanin' up some bad cracked rocks hangin' from a
cut west av town, over near Buffalo Crick.  I'm tellin'
ye th' last so ye won't think it's thunderclaps on their
disturbin' way to town.  But ye'll sleep through it, no
doubt, an' never hear th' shot."

"Blastin' at night?" exclaimed Williams in incredulous
surprise.

"I don't like th' sun shinin' on th' darlin's while I'm
pokin' 'em in th' hot rocks, so I may load her an' shoot
her after dark," replied Murphy.  "I've a lot av respect
for th' stuff, much as I've handled it.  Good day, sir,"
and he left behind him a man who was nervous and
jumpy until after the keys had tinkled on the ground
near the rear door; indeed, such an impression had been
made on him that he mentioned it, with profane criticisms
and observations, at the table that night in the hotel.

The marshal moved his chair farther around in the
shade and on his tanned face there crept a warm, rare
smile.  "'Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, and keep
the bridge with thee!'  Well said, Herminius!  Yonder
you go in spirit: Tim Murphy, you'd make complete any
'dauntless three'!"

The shadows were growing long when Tommy came
into sight again, buried in thought as he rode slowly
down the street.  He stopped and swung to the ground
in front of the lazy marshal.

"They shore do beat th' devil," he growled, throwing
himself into the vacant chair and lapsing into silence.

Tex nodded understandingly.  "They do," he indolently
agreed, a smile flickering across his face.  "Black
is white an' red is green--they're the worst I've ever
seen," he extemporized.  "They're intuitive critters, son;
an' don't you let anybody tell you that intuition hasn't
any warrant for existing.  It has.  It's got more warrant
than reason.  It was flowering long before reason poked
its first shoot out of the ground.  Reason only runs back
a few thousand generations, but intuition goes back to
the first cell of nervous tissue--I might qualify that a
bit and say before nervous tissue was structurally apart
from the rest.  Reason starts anew in every life, usually
upon a little better foundation--often a poorer one.  It
is nursed and trained and cultivated an' when its
possessor dies, it dies with him.  Not so our venerable friend,
intuition.  He, or rather she, is cumulative.  She is th'
sum of all previous individuals in the life chain of th'
last.  She picks up an' stores away, growing a little each
time--an' while she is vague, an' can be classified as a
'because,' or 'I don't know why,' she operates steady.
Don't ask me what I know about it, for it has been a
long time since I gave any study to things like this.  I
might guess an' say that it's th' physical changes in th'
thought channels due to experience, or in th' structure
of th' brain cells or th' quality of their tissues.  Anyway,
so far as practicability is concerned, you've summed up
th' whole thing: 'They shore do beat th' devil'."

Tommy was looking at him, puzzled and intent; but
puzzled intelligently.  There is a difference.

"With me an' you, two opposites in thought result in
th' cancellation of one of them.  We don't say of th' same
object: 'This is white, this is black,' at th' same time
an' believe 'em both.  Th' words themselves are intelligible;
but th' conception ain't.  We can't do it.  One is
chosen an' th' other dies.  But I won't bet you that a
woman cancels.  She may not get a dirty white or a slate
gray, but she gets a combination, all right.  That's where
intuition's family tree comes in.  No matter how absurd
its contentions may be they have force because of th'
impetus coming from age.  What did she get out th'
colors for you?"

"Yo're th' easiest man to talk to that I ever met,"
said Tommy, wonderingly.  "I don't know how you do
it.  Why, she got a bright red with a dull green cast--said
you was justified, 'but a life's a life': an' then she
cried!"

Over Tex's face came a light which only can be
compared to the rising sun seen from some lofty peak, for
in the radiance there were shadows.





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.. _`OUTCHEATING CHEATERS`:

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   CHAPTER XIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   OUTCHEATING CHEATERS

.. vspace:: 2

Gus Williams left the supper table, where he
had held forth volubly upon the subject of dynamite,
in his almost lecture to the other diners, some of
whom knew more about it than he did, and walked
ponderously toward the poker table for his usual evening's
game.  Seating himself at the place which by tacit
consent had become his own, he idly shuffled and reshuffled
the cards and finally began a slow and laborious game of
solitaire to while away the time until his cronies should
join him.  This game had become a fixture of the
establishment, played for low stakes but with great
seriousness, and often ran into the morning hours.

The rest of the diners tarried inexplicably at the
plate-littered table, engaged in a discussion of stud poker and
of their respective abilities in playing it, and of winnings
they had made and seen made.  It slowly but surely
grew acrimonious, as any such discussion is prone to
among idle men who are very much in each other's company.

The new marshal sat a little apart from the eager
disputants, taking no share in the wrangling.  Finally
Sinful, scorning a shouted ruling on a hypothetical
question concerning the law of averages, turned suddenly
and appealed to the marshal, whose smiling reply was
not a confirmation of the appellant's claim.

Sinful glared at his disappointing umpire.  "A lot you
know about stud!" he retorted.  "Bet you can't even
play mumbly-peg!"

"That takes a certain amount of skill," rejoined Tex
without heat.  "In stud it's how th' cards fall."

Hank laughed sarcastically.  "Averages don't count?
We'll just start a little game an' I'll show you how easy
stud-hoss is.  Come on, boys: we'll give th' marshal a
lesson.  Clear away them dishes."

All but Sinful held back, saying that they had no
money for gambling, but they were remarkably eager to
watch the game.

Sinful snorted.  "Huh!  Two-hand is no good.  I'm
honin' for a little stud-hoss for a change.  It's been
nothin' but draw in this town.  Reckon stud's too lively
to suit most folks: takes nerve to ride a fast game.  A
man can have a-plenty of nerve one way, an' none a-tall
another way.  Fine bunch of paupers!"

Hank's disgust was as great.  "Fine bunch of paupers,"
he repeated.  "An' them as ain't busted is scared.
You called th' turn, Sinful: it shore does take
nerve--more'n mumbly-peg, anyhow.  A three-hand game would
move fast--*too* fast for these coyotes."

"Don't you let th' old mosshead git off with that,
Marshal!" cried a miner, "Wish *I* had some dust: I'd
cussed soon show 'em!"

Tex was amused by the baiting.  Hardly an eye had
left him while the whole discussion was going on, even
the two principals looking at him when they spoke to
each other.  He looked from one old reprobate to the
other, and let his smile become a laugh as he moved up
to the table, a motion which was received by the entire
group with sighs of relief and satisfaction.

"I reckon it's my luck ag'in' yore skill," he said; "but
I can't set back an' be insulted this way.  I'm a public
character, now, an' has got to uphold th' dignity of th'
law.  Get a-goin', you fellers."

Sinful and Hank, simultaneously slamming their gold
bags on the table, reached for the cards at the same
time and a new wrangle threatened.

"Cut for it," drawled Tex, smiling at the expectant,
hopeful faces around the table.  Williams' irritable,
protesting cough was unheeded and, Hank dealing, the game
got under way.  Tex honorably could have shot both of
his opponents in the first five minutes of play, but simply
cheated in turn and held his own.  At the end of an
hour's excitement he was neither winner nor loser, and
he shoved back from the table in simulated disgust.  He
scorned to take money so tragically needed, and he had
determined to lose none of his own.

"This game's so plumb fast," he ironically observed,
"that I ain't won or lost a dollar.  You got my sportin'
blood up, an' I ain't goin' to insult it by playin' all night
for nothin'.  I told you stud was only luck: That skill
you was talkin' about ain't showed a-tall.  If there's
anybody here as wants a *real* game I'm honin' to hear his
voice."

"Can you hear mine?" called Williams, glaring at
the disappointed stud players and their friends.  "There's
a real game right here," he declared, pounding the table,
"with real money an' real nerve!  Besides, I got a hoss
to win back, an' I want my revenge."

Tex turned to the group and laughed, playfully poking
Sinful in the ribs.  "Hear th' cry of th' lobo?  He's
lookin' for meat.  Our friend Williams has been savin'
his money for Tex Jones, an' I ain't got th' heart to
refuse it.  Bring yore community wealth an' set in, you
an' Hank.  Though if you can't play draw no better'n
you play stud you ought to go home."

"I cut my teeth on draw," boasted Sinful.  He turned
and slapped his partner on the shoulder.  "Come on,
Hank!" he cried.  "Th' lone wolf is howlin' from th'
timber line an' his pelt's worth money.  Let's go git it!"

They swept down on the impatient Williams, their
silent partners bringing up the rear, and clamored for
action.  Tex lighting a freshly rolled cigarette, faced
the local boss, Hank on his right and Sinful on his left,
the eager onlookers settling behind their champions.  The
thin, worried faces of the miners appealed to the marshal,
their obvious need arousing a feeling of pity in him; and
then began a game which was as much a credit to Tex
as any he ever had played.  He rubbed the saliva-soaked
end of his cigarette between finger and thumb and gave
all his attention to the game.

Williams won on his own deal, cutting down the gold
of the two miners.  On Hank's deal he won again and
the faces of the old prospectors began to tense.  Tex
dealt in turn and after a few rounds of betting Williams
dropped out and the game resolved itself into a simulated
fiercely fought duel between the miners, who really cared
but little which of them won.  Hank finally raked in the
stakes.  Sinful shuffled and Tex cut.  Williams forced
the betting but had to drop out, followed by Tex, and the
dealer gleefully hauled in his winnings.  Again Williams
shuffled, his expression vaguely denoting worry.  He
made a sharp remark about one of the onlookers behind
Tex and all eyes turned instinctively.  The miner
retorted with spirit and Williams suddenly smiled
apologetically.

"My mistake, Goldpan," he admitted.  "Let's forget
it, an' let th' game proceed."

Tex deliberately had allowed his attention to be called
from the game and when he picked up his cards he was
mildly suspicious, for Williams' remark had been entirely
uncalled for.  He looked quickly for the nine of clubs
or the six of hearts, finding that he had neither.  He
passed and sat back, smiling at the facial contortions of
Hank and the blank immobility of Sinful's leathery
countenance.  Hank dropped out on the next round and
after a little cautious betting Sinful called and threw
down his hand.  Williams spread his own and smiled.
That smile was to cost him heavily, for in his club flush
lay the nine spot, guiltless of the tobacco smudge which
Tex had rubbed on its face in the first hand he had been
dealt.

Tex wiped the tips of his sensitive fingers on his
trousers and became voluble and humorous.  As he picked
up his cards, one by one as they dropped from Hank's
swiftly moving hand, he first let his gaze linger a little
on their backs, and his fingers slipped across the corners
of each.  Williams had cheated before with a trimmed
deck and now the marshal grimly determined to teach him
a lesson, and at the same time not arouse the suspicions
of the boss against the new marshal.  With the switching
of the decks Williams had set a pace which would
grow too fast for him.  Marked cards suited Tex,
especially if they had been marked by an opponent, who
would have all the more confidence in them.  After a
few deals if he wouldn't know each card as well as a man
like Williams, whose marking could not be much out of
the ordinary, and certainly not very original, then he
felt that he deserved to get the worst of the play.  He
once had played against a deck which had been marked
by the engraver who designed the backs, and he had
learned it in less than an hour.  So now he prepared to
enjoy himself and thereafter bet lightly when Williams
dealt, but on each set of hands dealt by himself one of
the prospectors always won, and with worthy cards.
Worthy as were their hands they were only a shade
better than those held by the proprietor of the hotel and
the general store.  One hand alone cost Williams over
eighty dollars, three others were above the seventy-dollar
mark and he was losing his temper, not only because of
his losses, but also because he did not dare to cheat too
much on his own deal.  Tex's eyes twinkled at him and
Tex's rambling words hid any ulterior motive in the
keen scrutiny.  Finally, driven by desperation, Williams
threw caution to the winds and risked detection.  He was
clever enough to avoid grounds for open accusation, but
both of the miners suddenly looked thoughtful and a
moment later they exchanged significant glances.
Thereafter no one bet heavily when Williams dealt.

The finish came when Tex had dealt and picked up
his hand.  Sinful stolidly regarded the cheery faces of
three kings--spades, clubs, and hearts.  Williams liked
the looks of his two pairs, jacks up.  Hank rolled his
huge cud into the other cheek and tried to appear mournful
at the sight of the queen, ten, eight, and five of hearts.
Tex laid down his four-card spade straight and picked up
the pack.

"Call 'em, boys," he said.

Sinful's two cards, gingerly lifted one at a time from
the table, pleased him very much, although from all
outward signs they might have been anything in the card
line.  They were the aces of diamonds and clubs.  He
sighed, squared the hand, and placed it face down on the
table before him.  Williams gulped when he added a third
jack to his two pairs, and Hank nearly swallowed his
tobacco at sight of the prayed-for, but unexpected,
appearance of another heart.  All eyes were on the dealer.  He
put down the deck and picked up his hand for another
look at it.  After a moment he put it down again, sadly
shaking his head.

"Good enough as it is," he murmured.  "I ain't havin'
much luck, one way or th' other; an' I'm gettin' tired!
of th' cussed game."

"Dealer pat?" sharply inquired Williams, suspicion
glinting in his eyes.

"Pat, an' cussed near flat," grunted Tex.  "Go on
with her.  I'll trail along with what I got, an' quit after
this hand."

Notwithstanding the dealer's pat hand and his expression
of resignation, the betting was sharp and swift.  On
the first round, being forty-odd dollars ahead, Tex saw
the accumulated raises and had enough left out of his
winnings to raise five dollars.  He tossed it in and leaned
back, watching each face in turn.  Sinful was not to be
bluffed by any pat hand at this stage of the play, no
matter how craftily it was bet.  He reflected that straights,
flushes, and full houses could be held pat, as well as threes
or two pairs, all of which he had beat.  A straight flush
or fours were the only hands he could lose to, and
Williams had not dealt the cards.  Pat hands were sometimes
pat bluffs, more terrifying to novices than to old players.
He saw the raise and shoved out another, growling:
"Takes about twenty more to see this circus."

Williams hesitated, looking at the dealer's neat little
stack of cards.  He was convinced from the way Tex
had acted that the pat hand was a bluff, for its owner
had not been caught bluffing since the game started,
which indicated that he had labored to establish the
reputation of playing only intrinsic hands, which would
give a later bluff a strong and false value.  He saw and
raised a dollar, hoping that someone would drop out.
Hank disappointed him by staying in and boosting
another dollar.  They both were feeling their way along.
Hank also believed the pat hand to be worthless; and
worthless it was, for Tex tossed it from him, face down,
and rammed his hands into his pockets.

Sinful heaved a sigh of relief, which was echoed by
the others, squinted from his hand to the faces of the
two remaining players, and grinned sardonically.  "Bluffs
are like crows; they live together in flocks.  I never quit
when she's comin' my way.  Grab a good holt for another
raise!  She's ten higher, now."

With the disturbing pat hand out of it, which was all
the more disturbing because it had belonged to the dealer,
Williams gave more thought to the players on his left
and right.  He decided that Hank was the real danger
and that Sinful's words were a despairing effort to win
by the default of the others.  He saw the raise and let it
go as it was.  Hank rolled the cud nervously and with
a sudden, muttered curse, threw down his hand.  A flush
had no business showing pride and fight in this game,
he decided.  Sinful grinned at him across the table.

"Terbaccer makin' you sick, Hank?" he jeered.  "I'm
raisin' ten more, jest to keep th' corpse alive.  He-he-he!"

There was now too much in the pot to give it up for
ten dollars and Williams met the raise, swore, and called,
"What you got, you devil from h--l?"

"I got quite a fambly," chuckled Sinful, laying down
a pair of aces.  "There's twin brothers," he said,
looking up.

Williams snorted at the old man's pleasure in not showing
his whole hand at once, and he tossed three jacks on
the table.  "Triplets in mine," he replied.

Sinful raised his eyebrows and regarded them
accusingly.  "Three jacks can tote quite some load if it's
packed right," he said.  "Th' rest of my fambly is three
more brothers, an' they bust th' mules' backs.  Ain't got
th' extry jack, have you?"

Slamming the rest of the cards on the table Williams
arose and without a word walked to the bar.  Sinful's.
cackles of joy were added to by his friends and they
surrounded the table to help in the division of the spoils,
in plain sight of all.

"Win or lose, Marshal?" demanded Sinful shrilly
above the hubbub of voices.

"Lost a couple of dollars," bellowed Tex.

"Much obliged for 'em," rejoined Sinful.  He looked
at Hank, winked and said: "Marshal's been real kind to
us, Hank," and Tex never was quite certain of the old
man's meaning.

Williams looked around as Tex leaned against the bar.
"How'd *you* come out?" he asked, his face showing his
anger.

"I lost," answered Tex carelessly.  "Not anythin' to
speak of: a few dollars, I reckon.  I told 'em two dollars,
for they're swelled up with pride as things are.  They
must 'a' got into you real heavy."

Williams sneered.  "Heavy for them, I reckon.  I
ain't limpin'.  They got too cussed much luck."

"Luck?" muttered the marshal, gazing inquiringly at
the glass of whiskey he had raised from the bar, as
though it might tell him what he wanted to know.  "I
ain't so shore of that, Williams," he slowly said.  "Them
old sour-doughs get snowed in near every winter, up in
th' hills; an' then they ain't got nothin' to do but eat,
sleep, swap lies, an' play cards.  Somethin' tells me there
wasn't a whole lot of luck in it.  I know I had all I
could do to stay in th' saddle without pullin' leather--an'
I ain't exactly cuttin' my teeth where poker is concerned.
Listen to 'em, will you?  Squabblin' like a lot of kids.
I reckon they had this cooked up in grand style.  They're
all sharin' in th' winnin's, you'll notice."  He paused in
surprise as a dull roar faintly shook the room.  "What's
that?" he demanded sharply.  "It can't be thunder!"

His companion shook his head.  "No, it ain't; it's that
Murphy blowin' up rock, like I was sayin' at supper.
Hope he went up with it!"  He laughed at a man who
was just coming in, and who stopped dead in the door
and listened to the rumble.  "Yore shack's safe, Jake,"
he called.  "Th' Mick's blastin' over past yore way.  You
remember what I've told you!" he warned.

Jake looked from the speaker to the careless, but
inwardly alert, city marshal, scowled, shuffled over to a
table, and called for a drink, thereafter entirely ignoring
the peace officer.

Henry came in soon after and joined the two at the
bar.  "Yes, I'll have th' same.  You two goin' ridin'
ag'in, Marshal?" he asked.

Tex shrugged his shoulders.  "It shore don't look like
it.  She mebby figgered me out.  Anyhow, she slammed
th' door plumb in my face."  He frowned.  "Somehow
I don't get used to things like that.  She could 'a' treated
me like I wasn't no tramp, anyhow, couldn't she?"

Henry smiled maliciously, and felt relieved.  "They're
shore puzzlin'.  I hear that coyote Watkins was out there
this afternoon.  There wasn't no door slammed in *his*
face."  His little eyes glinted.  "I see where he's goin'
to learn a lesson, an' learn it for keeps!"

"Oh, he got throwed, too," chuckled Tex, as if finding
some balm in another's woe.  "He stopped off on his
way home an' told me about it.  Got a busted heart, an'
belly-achin' like a sick calf.  That's what he is; an' it's
calf love, as well.  Shucks!  When I was his age I fell
in love with a different gal about every moon.  Besides,
he ain't got money, nor prospects: an' she knows it."

Henry took him by the arm and led him to a table
in a far corner.  "I been thinkin' I mebby ought to send
her a present, or somethin'," he said, watching his
companion's face.  "You, havin' more experience with 'em,
I figgered mebby you would help me out.  *I* don't know
what to get her."

"Weakenin' already," muttered the marshal, trying
to hide a knowing, irritating smile.  "Pullin' leather, an'
ain't hardly begun to ride yet!"

"I ain't pullin' no leather!" retorted Henry, coloring.
"I reckon a man's got a right to give a present to his
gal!"

"Shore!" endorsed Tex heartily.  "There ain't no
question about it--when she comes right out an' admits
that she is his gal.  This Saunders woman ain't admittin'
it, yet; an' if she figgers that yo're weakenin' on yore
play of ignorin' her, then she'll just set back an' hold
you off so th' presents won't stop comin'.  This is a
woman's game, an' she can beat a man, hands down an'
blindfolded: an' they know it.  I tell you, Hennery, a
wild cayuse that throws its first rider ain't no deader
set on stayin' wild than a woman is set on makin' a
man go through his tricks for her if she finds he's
performin' for her private amusement, an' payin' for th'
privilege, besides.  It ain't no laughin' matter for you,
Hennery; but I can't hardly keep *from* laughin' when I
think of you stayin' away to get her anxious, an' then
sendin' her presents!  It's yore own private affair, an'
yo're runnin' it yore own way--but them's *my* ideas."

Henry stared into space, gravely puffing on a cold
cigarette.  His low, furrowed brow denoted intense
mental concentration, and the scowl which grew deeper
did not suggest that his conclusions were pleasant.  The
simile regarding the wild horse sounded like good logic
to him, for he prided himself that he knew horses.
Finally he looked anxiously at his deeply thinking companion.

"It sounds right, Marshal," he grudgingly admitted;
"but it shore is hard advice to foller.  I'm plumb anxious
to buy her somethin' nice, somethin' she can't get in this
part of th' country, an' somethin' she can wear an' know
come from me."  He paused in some embarrassment
and tried to speak carelessly.  "If you was goin' to
get a woman like her some present--mind, I'm sayin'
*if*--what would you get?"

Tex reflected gravely.  "Candy don't mean nothin',"
he cogitated, in a low, far-away voice.  "Anybody she
knew at all could give her candy.  It don't mean nothin'
special, a-tall."  He did not appear to notice how his
companion's face fell at the words.  "Books are like
candy--just common presents.  A stranger almost could
give 'em.  Ridin' gloves is a little nearer--but Tommy,
or me, could give them to her.  Stockin's?  Hum: I
don't know.  They're sort of informal, at that.  'Tain't
everybody, however, could give 'em.  Only just one man:
get my idea?"

"I shore do, Marshal," beamed Henry.  "You see,
livin' out here all my life an' not 'sociatin' with
wimmin--like her, anyhow--I didn't know hardly what would
be th' correct thing.  Wonder what color?"

Tex was somewhat aghast at his joke being taken so
seriously.  "Now, you look here, Hennery!" he said in
a warning voice.  "You promise me not to send her no
stockin's till I says th' word."  He had wanted to give
Jane more reason to dislike the nephew, but hardly cared
to have it go that far.  "Stayin' away, are you?  You
make me plumb sick, you do!  Stayin' away, h--l!"

A roar of laughter came from the celebrating miners
and all eyes turned their way.  Sinful and Hank were
dancing to the music of a jew's-harp and the time set
by stamping, hob-nailed boots.  They parted, bowed,
joined again, parted, courtesied and went on, hand in
hand, turning and ducking, backing and filing, the dust
flying and the perspiration streaming down.  It seemed
impossible that in these men lurked a bitter race hatred,
or that hearts as warm and happy could be incubating
the germs of cowardly murder.  Not one of them, alone,
would be guilty of such a thing; but the spirit of a mob
is a remarkable and terrible thing, tearing aside
civilization's training and veneer, and in a moment hurling men
back thousands of years, back to the days when killing
often was its own reward.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`TACT AND COURAGE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIV


.. class:: center medium bold

   TACT AND COURAGE

.. vspace:: 2

Things were going along smoothly for the new
marshal until two of the C Bar punchers,
accompanied by two men from a ranch farther from
town, rode in to make a night of it.  It chanced that
the C Bar men had been with a herd some forty miles
north of the ranch, where water and grass conditions
were much better, and they had become friendly
with the outfit of another herd which grazed on the
western fringe of the same range.  A month of this,
days spent in the saddle on the same rounds, and
nights spent at the chuck wagon with nothing to
vary the monotony of the cycle, had given the men an
edge to be bunted at the first opportunity; and their
ideas of working off high-pressure energies did not
take into consideration any such things as safety
valves.  Action they craved, action they had ridden
in for, and action they would have.  The swifter it
started, the faster it moved, the better it would suit
them.  So, with an accumulation of energy, thirst,
and money they tore into Windsor one noon at a
dead run, whooping like savages, and proclaiming
their freedom from restraint and their pride of class
by a heavenward bombardment which frightened no
one and did no harm.

It so chanced that when they passed the new
marshal's office they were going so fast, and were so
fully occupied in waking up the town, that the lettering
over the door of the lean-to escaped their attention.
And they were past, bunched in a compact
group, and nearly hidden in dust before the mildly
curious officer could get to the door.  He watched
them whirl up to the hotel, the stronghold and
stamping ground of Williams and the miners and,
dismounting with shrill yells, pause a moment to
reload their empty guns, and then surge toward the door.

Tex rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he considered
them.  Carney's was the cowman's favorite drinking
place, yet these four cheerful riders had not given
it a second glance, judging from the way they had
gone past it.  This was no matter for congratulation,
but bespoke, rather, a determination to show off
where their efforts would create more interest.  Who
they were, or what they came in for, he neither knew
nor cared.  They were celebrating punchers from
somewhere out on the range and they were going to hold
their jamboree in the miners' chosen place of
entertainment.  A less experienced marshal, filled with
zeal and conceit, might forthwith have buckled on
his guns, and started for the scene of the festivities, to
be on hand as a preventive, rather than a corrective,
or punitive, force; and very probably would have
hastened the very thing he sought to avoid.  Tex
hoped to take the edge from the class feeling, and
determined to be openly linked with neither one side
nor the other.  His place was to be that of a neutral
buffer and his justice must be impartial and above
criticism.  So, after turning back to buckle on the
left-hand gun, he did not sally forth to blaze the
glory of the law and precipitate a riot; he sat down
patiently to await the course of events.

Williams poked his head out of the door of his
store and looked anxiously down the street at the
dismounting four.  As they went into the hotel he
hurried across to the marshal's office and stopped,
panting, in the doorway.

"See 'em?" he asked excitedly.  "Hear 'em?"

"What or who?" asked Tex, throwing one leg over
the other.

"Them rowdy punchers!" exclaimed the storekeeper.
"Nobody's safe!  Go up an' take 'em in, quick!"

"What they do?" interestedly asked the marshal.

"Didn't you *see* an' *hear*?" demanded Williams
incredulously.

"I saw 'em ride past, an' I heard 'em shootin' in
th' air; but what did they do so I can arrest 'em?"

"Ain't that enough?  That, an' th' yellin', an' everythin'?"

"Sinful and his friends made more noise th' other
night when they left town," replied the marshal.  "I
didn't arrest them.  Hank was of a mind to see if it
was true that a bullet only punches a little,
thin-edged hole in a pane of glass an' don't smash it all
to pieces.  Bein' wobbly, he picked out yore winder,
seein' they was th' biggest in town; but Sinful held
him back, an' they had a scufflin' match an' made
more noise than sixteen mournful coyotes.  There
bein' no pane smashed I didn't cut in.  A man is
only a growed-up boy, anyhow."

Williams looked at him in frank amazement.  "But
these here fellers are punchers!" he exploded.

"I shore could see that, even with th' dust," confessed
the marshal.  "That ain't no crime as I knows of."

"It ain't th' four to one that's holdin' you back, is
it?" demanded Williams insinuatingly.  "They're
punchers, too: bad as h--l."

Tex languidly arose and removed the pair of guns
and the belts, laying them gently on the floor.  He
pitched his sombrero on the bunk and faced his caller.

"Mebby I didn't understand you," he coldly suggested.
"What was it you said?"

Williams raised both hands in quick protest, one
foot fishing desperately behind him for the ground
below the sill.  "Nothin' to make you go on th' prod,"
he hastily explained.

"Listen to me, Williams," said the cool peace
officer, his voice level and unemotional.  "Anybody
callin' me a coward wants to go into action fast, an'
keep on goin' fast.  That includes everybody from
King Solomon right down to date.  I'm responsible
for th' peace in this town, an' when *anybody* starts
smashin' it I'll go 'em a whirl.  Yellin', ridin' fast,
an' shootin' in th' air, 'specially by sober men, ain't
smashin' nothin' in a town like this.  I don't aim to
run no nursery, nor even a kindergarden.  I ain't
makin' a fool out of myself an' turnin' th' law into
a joke.  Once let ridicule start an' h--l's pleasant by
contrast.  They ain't shootin' now.  Th' first shot
fired inside any buildin', or dangerously low, an' I
inject myself an' my two guns.  I can't make no
arrests on a blind guess, mine nor yourn.  You better
go back to th' store an' keep th' vinegar from sourin'
on its mother."

Williams' jaw dropped.  This was not Tex Jones
at all, at least it didn't sound like him.  "As th' owner
of th' most valuable property in town I want them
coyotes stopped from ruinin' it.  I----"

"When they show any signs of ruinin' *any* property
I'll step in an' stop 'em," the marshal assured him.
"I got my ears open, an' had my authority buckled
on--which I'll now resume wearin'."  He picked up
a heavy belt and slung it around him, deftly catching
the free end as it slapped against him.  "We'll have
law an' order, Williams--even if I have to fill some
fool as full of holes as a prairie-dog town; but I ain't
goin' out an' trample on a man's pride an' make him
get killed defendin' it, unless I got good reason to.
This is a long speech, but I'm goin' to make it longer
so I can impress somethin' on yore mind.  Bein' a
busy merchant you've mebby never had time to
think about it much; but me, bein' a marshal, I *got*
to think of everythin' like that.  This is one of 'em:
When bad feelin's exist between two classes, helpin'
one ag'in' th' other, without honest reasons, is only
goin to make more bitterness.  It can be held down
only by impersonal justice.  That's me.  I don't give
a d--n what a man is as long as he behaves hisself."  Picking
up the second belt he slung it around him the
other way and buckled it behind him.  As he shook
them both to a more comfortable fit a yell rang out
up near the hotel, followed by a shot.  Grabbing his
hat from the bunk he pushed Williams out of his
way and dashed through the door, flinging over his
shoulder: "I'm injectin' myself *now*!  You better go
look to th' vinegar!"

He saw Whiskey Jim, the man whom he had caught
beating the dog, in his blind terror run against the
side of the harness-shop, recover from the impact and,
stupefied by fear, frantically claw at the bleached
boards.  A spurt of dust almost under one of his feet
made him claw more frantically.  The hilarious
puncher walked slowly toward him, raising the Colt
for another shot.  Behind him, laughing uproariously,
stood his three friends, solidly blocking the hotel door.

"Hold that gun where it is!" shouted the marshal,
dropping into a catlike stride.  He was coming down
the middle of the street, not more than forty paces,
now, from the performing puncher.

The gun arm stiffened in air as the whiplike,
authoritative phrase reached its possessor and,
grinning exultantly, the puncher wheeled to get a good
look at his next victim.  He saw a grave-faced man
of forty-odd years walking toward him, a bright star
pinned to the open vest, two guns hanging low down
on the swaying hips, the swinging hands brushing
the walnut grips at every lithe, steady step.

"See what we got to play with!" exulted the
surprised puncher, calling to his friends.  "I want his
badge: you can have th' rest!"  His hand chopped
down and a spurt of dust leaped from the ground at
the marshal's side.

Disregarding it, the peace officer maintained his
steady, swinging stride, his eyes fixed on those of
the other, intently watching for a change in their
playful expression.  Another shot and the dust spurted
close to his left foot.  The hilarious laughter of the
three in the doorway died out, and their friend in the
street stood stock still, trying to figure out what he
had better do next.  The deliberate marshal was now
only five paces away and at the puncher's indecision,
plain to be seen in the eyes, he leaped forward,
wrested the gun from the feebly resisting fingers,
whirled the nonplussed man around and then kicked
him his own length on the ground.

Ignoring the three men in the doorway, thereby
tacitly admitting their squareness, the marshal calmly
ejected the cartridges from the captured weapon and,
as the angry and astonished puncher arose, handed
it to him.

"It's empty," he said in a matter-of-fact voice.
"Keep it that way till you leave town; an' when you
come in again, intendin' to likker up an' raise h--l,
either unload it or leave it with me, unless you
promise to behave yoreself."  He turned to Whiskey Jim,
who appeared to be frozen into a statue.  "Come
over here, Jim," he commanded, and again turned to
the puncher, who did not know whether to laugh or
to curse.  "I reckon Jim's th' only injured party.
His feelin's has been trampled on to th' tune of about
five dollars.  Pay him before he takes it out of yore
hide.  He's a desperate bad man, Jim is!"

The three men in the door, who were nowhere
near drunk yet, knew sparkling courage when they
saw it, and they shouted with laughter at their
crestfallen friend, who grudgingly was counting the fine
into the eager hand of the aggrieved citizen.

"Hey, Walt!" burbled one of them, a beardless
youth on one end of the line.  "Still want to play
with that badge?"

"If you do," jeered the man in the middle, laughing
again, "better rustle, *pronto*, 'cause I'm buyin' its boss
a drink."

Walt grinned expansively, shoved the money into
Whiskey Jim's clutching fingers, took hold of the
quiet marshal, and turned toward the hotel.  "You
come along with me, officer," he said.  "I'll pertect
you.  That fool says he's buyin' you a drink--mebby
he is, but I'm payin' for th' first one.  Yo're about th'
best he-man I've seen since I looked into a lookin'-glass.
I'm obliged to you for not losin' yore valuable
temper."  He waved a hand at the unbelieving Jim,
who doubted his reeling senses.  Five whole dollars,
all at once!  Gosh, but the new marshal was a
hummer.  "Now don't you lay for me, Jim," laughed the
puncher.  "We're square, all 'round, ain't we?"

The cheerful three in the door grabbed the marshal
of Windsor and hauled him in to the bar, where he
pushed free and surveyed them.

"Four cheerful imbeciles," he murmured sadly.
"Don't you reckon you better quit drinkin', or else
empty them guns?"

"Now don't you be too hard on us, Marshal,"
chuckled the eldest.  "We're so dry we rattles, an'
th' dust, risin' out of our throats gets plumb into
our eyes.  Here," he said, dragging out his gun and
gravely emptying it, "these are shore heavy.  I'll
carry 'em in my pocket for a change," and he made
good his words.  The others laughingly followed his.
example, Tex's smile growing broader all the time.

"This ain't nothin' personal, boys," he said.  "It's
only that th' law has come to town.  Knowin' you'll
leave 'em empty till after you get out, I'll have one
drink an' go about my business."  He made no threats
and his voice was friendly and pleasant; and it did
not have to be otherwise.  He had made four friends,
and they knew that he would go through with any
play he started.  "Know Tommy Watkins?" he
asked as he put down his glass.

"Shore!" answered Walt.  "He's workin' with
my outfit--C Bar.  Ain't seen him for a month,
him bein' off somewhere when we rode in for our
pay.  Marshal, shake hands with another C Bar
rider--Wyatt Holmes.  These two tramps is Double
S punchers--Lefty Rowe, an' Luke Perkins.  My
name's Butler--Walt Butler.  What's Tommy up an'
done?" he finished somewhat anxiously.

"Glad to see you, boys," said Tex, heartily shaking
hands all around.  "My name's Tex Jones.  Come in
ag'in," he invited.  "Oh," he said in answer to Walt's
question, "Tommy ain't done nothin', yet.  I was
just wonderin'.  Good boy, Tommy is.  Sort of wild,
I reckon, bein' young.  Busy after th' gals.  Most
young fellers are hellers anyhow, or think they are.
But he's a likable pup."

Walt laughed and the others grinned broadly.
"You've shore figgered him wrong, Marshal.  He's
scairt of th' gals--won't have nothin' to do with 'em;
an' I ain't never seen him nowhere near drunk; but"
he hastily defended in loyalty to his absent friend,
"he's all right, other ways.  Yes, sir--barrin' them
things, Tommy Watkins is a good man, an' I can lick
any feller that says he ain't."

"Which won't be me," replied Tex, smiling.  "I
like him, first-rate.  We been gettin' acquainted
fast.  Well, boys," he said, turning toward the door,
"have a good time an' come in often.  I like a little
company from th' outside.  It relieves th' monotony.
So-long."

"You shore had th' monotony busted wide open
today," chuckled Walt.  "But Tommy's a good
boy--whatever th' h--l he's been doin' since I saw him
last."  Watching the marshal until out of sight past
the door he turned and regarded his companions.
"I'm tellin' you calves there's a man who'd spit in th'
devil's eye," he said.  "We was playin' with giant
powder like four fools.  Here's to Tex Jones, Marshal
of Windsor!"

Lefty, tenderly putting the glass on the bar, looked
thoughtfully around the room and then at the
partially stunned barkeep.  "How's friend Bud takin'
th' new marshal?  Bud an' him shore will have an'
interestin' Colt fandango some of these fine days."

Baldy sighed, wiped off the bar, and looked sorrowfully
at the group.  "Bud's planted on Boot Hill.
They done had th' fandango, an' he did th' dancin'.
My G--d, I can see it yet!  It was like this--" and
he left the bar, walked to the door, and painstakingly
enacted the fight.  When it was finished, he mopped
his head and slowly returned to his accustomed
place.

Wyatt Holmes reached out and gravely shook
hands with his friends and finished by shaking his
own.  "You allus was a fool for luck, Walt," he said
thoughtfully.  "Giant powder?" he muttered piously.
"Giant h--l!  It was dynamite with th' fuse lit.
Here," he demanded, wheeling on the startled Baldy.
"I *need* this drink!  Set 'em up!"

Walt shook his head.  "Now, what th' devil has
Tommy done?" he growled.

Baldy, remembering Tommy's share in the altercation,
maintained a discreet silence.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A GOOD SAMARITAN`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XV


.. class:: center medium bold

   A GOOD SAMARITAN

.. vspace:: 2

Out on Buffalo Creek, Blascom, haggard, drawn,
gaunt, and throbbing with an excitement which
was slowly mastering him, scorning time to properly
prepare and eat his food, drove himself like a madman.
The creek bed at the old sump showed a huge,
sloping-sided ditch from bank to bank, the upper side
treacherous dry sand, the lower side a great, slanting ridge
of rock, riven through in one place by the force of the
dynamite, which had blown a great crater on the
down-stream side of the natural riffle.  In the bottom
of the ditch a few inches of water lay, all that had saved
him from fleeing from the claim because of thirst.

For year after weary year the miner had labored over
the gold-bearing regions of the West, South, and North,
beginning each period full of that abiding faith which
clings so tenaciously to the gold-hunter and refuses to
accept facts in any but an optimistic manner.  A small
stake here, day wages there, grubstakes, and hiring out,
he had persistently, stubbornly pursued the will-o'-the-wisp
and tracked down many a rainbow of hope, only
to find the old disappointment.  From laughing, hope-filled
youth he had run the gauntlet of the years, through
the sobered but still hopeful middle age, scorning thought
of the twilight of life when he should be broken in
strength and bitter in mind.  Teeming, mushroom
mining camps, frantic gold rushes, the majestic calm of cool
canyons, and the punishing silences of almost unbearable
desert wastes had found him an unquestioning worshiper,
a trusting devotee of his goddess of gold.  It was in his
blood, it was woven into every fiber of his body, and
he could no more cease his pursuit than he could stop the
beating of his heart, or at least he could not cease while
the goal remained unattained.  Now, after all these years,
he had won.  He had proved that his quest had not been
in vain.

Before the sun came up, even before dawn streaked the
eastern sky, his meager, ill-cooked breakfast was bolted,
and his morning scouting begun.  First of all he slipped
with coyote cunning down to the lower fork to see if
Jake still kept his drunken stupor.  The cold chimney of
the miserable hut was the first eagerly sought-for sign,
and every furtive visit awakened dread that a ribbon of
smoke would meet his eye.  A nearer approach made
with the wariness of some hunted creature of the wild,
let him sense the unnatural quiet of the little shack.  A
stealthy glance through a glassless opening, called a
window, after the light made it possible, showed him
morning after morning that his jug had not failed him.
The unshaven, matted, unclean face of the stupefied man
lay sometimes in a bunk, sometimes on the floor, and
once the huge bulk was sprawled out inertly across the
rough table amid a disarray of cracked, broken, and
unwashed dishes.  On the fifth morning the anxious
prowler, fearing the lowered contents of the jug, had
left a full bottle against the door of the hut and, slinking
into the scanty cover, had run like a hunted thing back
to the riven riffle and its unsightly ditch and crater.

Feverishly he worked, scorning food, unconscious of
the glare of a molten sun rising to the zenith of its
scorching heat.  Shovel and bucket, trips without end
from the ditch to a place above the steep bank where
the carried sand grew rapidly higher and higher;
panting, straining, frantic, worked Blascom.  Foot by foot
the ditch widened, foot by foot it lengthened, inch by
inch it deepened, slide after sandy slide slipping to its
bottom to be furiously, madly cursed by the prospector.

Then at last came the instant when the treasure was
momentarily uncovered.  Dropping the blunted, ragged-edged
shovel, he plunged to all fours and thrust eager,
avaricious fingers, bent like the talons of some bird of
prey, into the storehouse of gold.  Noiselessly responding
to the jar and the impact of the groveling body, the
great bank of sand had collapsed and slid down upon him,
burying him without warning.  The mass split and
heaved, and the imprisoned miner, wild-eyed, sobbing
for breath after his spasmodic exertions, burst through
it and, raising quivering fists, cursed it and creation.

Hope had driven him remorselessly, but now that he
had seen and felt the treasure, his efforts became those
of a madman.  More buckets of sand, jealous of each
spilled handful, more punishing trips at a dogtrot, more
frantic digging, and again he stared wildly at the pocket
under his knees.  Suddenly leaping erect, he cast anxious
glances around him and a panicky fear gripped him and
turned him into a wild beast.  Yanking his coat from
the rock riffle he spread it over the treasure and then,
running low and swiftly, gun in hand, he scouted through
the brush on both sides of the creek, and then bounded
toward the lower fork.  Approaching the hut on hands
and knees, cruelly cut by rock and thorn, he studied the
door and the open window.  The bottle was where he
had left it, the snores arose regularly, and once more he
was reassured.  Had there been signs of active life he
would have murdered with the exultant zeal of a
religious fanatic.

The day waned and passed.  Night drew its curtains
closer and closer, and yet Blascom labored, the treacherous
sand turning him into a raving, frenzied fury.
Higher and higher grew the sand pile on the bank, a
monument to his mad avarice.  With gold in lumps
massed at the foot of that rock ridge, yet he must save
the sand for its paltry yield in dust, pouring out his
waning strength in a labor which, to save pence, might
cost him pounds.  At last he stumbled more and more,
staggering this way and that, his tortured body all but
asleep, forced on and on by his fevered mind, flogged by
a stubborn will.  Then came a heavier stumble, following
a more unbalanced stagger and his numbed and vague
protests did not suffice to get him back on his feet.  When
he awakened, the glaring sun shocked him by its nearness
to the meridian, and the shock brought a momentary
sanity; if he scorned the warning he would be lost--and
another shadowy prompting of his subconscious mind
was at last allowed to direct him.  Calmly, but shakily,
he weakly crawled and staggered toward his shack, from
which came a thin streamer of smoke, climbing
arrow-like into the quiet, heated air.

He stopped and stared at it in amazement, doubting
his senses.  Had he seen it the day before it would have
enraged him to a blind, killing madness; but now,
suspicious as he was, and deadly determined to protect his
secret, the reaction of the high tension of the last six
days made him momentarily apathetic.  The abused body,
the starved tissues and dulled nerves, now took possession
of him and forced him, even though it was with gun
in his hand, to approach the door of his squalid,
disordered habitation erect and without hesitation.  At the
sound of his slowly dragging steps a well-known,
friendly voice called out and a well-known, friendly
face appeared at a window.

The marshal was nearly stunned by what he saw and
then, surging into action, leaped through the door and
caught his staggering friend.

The well-cooked, wholesome breakfast out of the way,
a breakfast made possible only by the marshal's
forethought in bringing supplies with him from town, he
refused Blascom's request for a third cup of coffee and
smilingly offered a glass of whiskey, over which he had
made a few mysterious passes.

"Don't want none," objected the weary miner.

"But yo're goin' to overcome yore sudden temperance
scruples an' drink it, for me," persuaded Tex.  "A good
shock will do you a lot of good--an' put new life into
you.  As you are you ain't worth a cuss."

The prospector held out his hand, smilingly obedient,
and downed the fiery draught at a gulp.  "Tastes funny,"
he observed, and then laughed.  "Wonder I can taste
it at all, after th' nightmare I've had since th' smoke of
that blast rolled away.  Where'd you think I was when
you came?"

Tex chuckled and stretched.  "I didn't know, but from
th' glimpse I got of th' crick bed I was shore I wasn't
goin' huntin' you, an' mebby get shot accidental.  Did
you find it, Blascom?"

"My G--d, yes!" came the explosive answer.
"There's piles of it, all shapes an' sizes, layin' on a
smooth rock floor.  When that sand stops slidin' I can
scoop it up with a shovel, like coal out of a bin.  Half
of it belongs to you, Jones: go look at it!"

"I don't want any of it," replied Tex with quiet, but
unshakable, determination.  "If you divide it, no matter
how much there is, by th' number of years you've sweat
an' slaved and starved, it won't be too much to pay you.
You set here a little while an' I'll go on a scout in th'
brush an' watch it till you come out.  Better lay down a
few minutes, say half an hour, an' give that grub a
chance to put some life into you.  I'll shake you if you
fall asleep."

"Feel sleepy now," confessed the prospector, yawning
and moving sluggishly toward his bunk.  "Seein' as how
yo're here, I'll just take a few winks--don't know when
I'll get another chance.  That sand shore is gallin' an'
ornery as th' devil.  Go up an' take a look at it--I'll
foller in a little while."

Tex, closing the door behind him, slipped into the
brush, where he made more than a usual amount of noise
for Blascom's benefit, and as he worked up toward the
ditch he chuckled to himself.  There had been no need
for a full dose, he reflected, and he was glad that he had
not given one.  Blascom's drink of whiskey had just
enough chloral in it to deaden him and give his worn-out
body the chance it sought; besides, he was not too certain
of the effect of a full dose on a constitution as
undermined as that of his friend.

The ditch, again slowly filling with sand, showed him
nothing, and he stood debating whether he should
disturb it for a look at the treasure, when he suddenly
thought of Jake and the whiskey jug.  He remembered
that Jake had been almost senselessly drunk when he
had left the hotel on the night of the blast and that he
had not been seen by anyone since.  It would do no harm
to go down to the lower fork and see what there was to
be seen.  The thought became action, and he was on his
way, down the middle of the creek bed, where the footing
was a little more to his liking.

The hut appeared to be deserted and the bottle of
whiskey outside the door brought a frown to his face,
which deepened as a nearer approach showed him that
the door was fastened shut by rope and wire on the
outside, and that the snoring inmate virtually was a
prisoner.  There was a note in the snores that disturbed
him and aroused his vague, half-forgotten professional
knowledge.  Hastening forward he pushed the bottle
aside with an impatient foot and worked rapidly with
the fastenings on the door.  At last it opened, and gun
in hand against any possible contingency, he entered the
hovel and looked at its tenant, sprawled face down
near the jumbled bunk.  A touch of the drunken man's
cheek, a tense counting of his pulse, sent Tex to his feet
as though a shot had nicked him.  Running back to
Blascom's hut, where he had left his horse, he leaped into the
saddle and sent Omar at top speed toward town.

His thundering knock on the doctor's door brought no
response and, not daring to pause on the dictates of
custom, he threw his shoulder against the flimsy barrier
and went in on top of it.  Scrambling to his feet, he
dashed into the rear one of the two rooms and swore in
sudden rage and disgust.

Doctor Horn lay on his back on a miserable cot and his
appearance brought a vivid recollection to his tumultuous
caller.  Tex turned up a sleeve and nodded grimly at the
tiny puncture marks and, with an oath, faced around and
swept the room with a searching glance.  It stopped and
rested on a heavy volume on a shelf and in a moment
he was hastily turning the pages.  Finding what he sought
he read avidly, closed the book, and hunted among the
bottles in a shallow closet.  Taking what he needed, he
ran out, leaped into the saddle and loped south to
mislead any curious observer, only turning west when hidden
from sight of the town.

When night fell it found a weak and raving patient in
the little hovel on the lower fork, roped in his bunk, and
watched anxiously by the two-gun man at his side.  The
long dark hours dragged, but dawn found a battle won.
Noon came and passed and then Tex, looking critically
at his patient, felt he could safely leave him for a few
minutes.  Glimpsing the filled bottle of liquor at the door
of the hut he grabbed it and hurled it against a rock.

Blascom was up and around when Tex reached the
upper fork, dragging heavy feet by strangely dulled legs.

"Just in time to feed," he drawled.  "Didn't sleep as
long as I thought," he said dully, glancing at the sun
patch on the floor.  "Must be near two o'clock--an' I
felt like I could sleep th' sun around."

Tex would not correct the mistake and nodded.  "You
must 'a' slept some last night," he suggested.  "Looked
like you had when I saw you from th' window this
mornin'."

Blascom nodded heavily.  "Near sixteen hours.  I feel
dead all over."

"A long sleep like that often makes a man feel that
way," responded Tex.  "Th' muscles are stubborn an'
th' eyes get a little touchy, too," he added.

They ate the poorly cooked dinner and leaned back
for a smoke, Blascom allowing himself to lose the time
because he felt so inert.

"Have any visits from friend Jake?" carelessly asked
the marshal.

Blascom laughed.  "Not one.  You see, Jake come
home that night about as drunk as a man can get an' walk
at all.  I planted th' jug, a full bottle of gin, an' near
half a quart of brandy in his cabin where he'd shore
see it.  He's been petrified for a week steady.  To make
shore I put another bottle of whiskey ag'in' his door."

Tex nodded.  "I busted that, just now.  You come
near killin' him.  I just about got him through.  Don't
give him no more.  I sat up all last night with him,
draggin' him back from th' Divide, an' only left him a little
while ago.  Get yore gold out quick an' you don't have
no call to want him drunk.  Cache it, an' then spend a
week takin' things easy.  You wasn't far behind Jake
when I saw you."

Blascom was staring at him in vast surprise.  "I never
thought good likker would hurt an animal like him!"

"I didn't say it was good likker," rejoined Tex.
"Even good likker will do it when drunk by th' barrel;
an' there's no good likker in Windsor, if I'm any judge.
Well," he said, arising and taking up his hat, "I'll drift
along for another look at Jake an' then head for town.
Seein' as how you got him that way, through my suggestion,
I'll admit, you better look in at him once in awhile
an' see he has what he needs.  Take some of yore water
with you: his stinks."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`BUFFALO CREEK IN THE SPOTLIGHT`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVI


.. class:: center medium bold

   BUFFALO CREEK IN THE SPOTLIGHT

.. vspace:: 2

What instinct it is and how it operates, that leads
vultures from over the horizon to a dying
animal, has never been satisfactorily explained to a lot
of people; no more than the instinct which led Sinful
and Hank to go prowling around Buffalo Creek when
by all rights they should have been hanging around
their own camp or loafing in the hotel; but prowl they
did, their cunning old eyes missing nothing, certainly
nothing so new and shining and high as the sand heap
above the creek bank.

Sinful saw it first and he nudged his companion, whose
cud nearly choked him before he could cough it back
where it belonged.

"Glory!" he choked.  "Jest look at it!  Come on,
Sinful: we got to inwestigate.  Nobody's diggin' all that
out an' totin' it up there for th' fun of it.  But why's he
luggin' it so far?"

Sinful snorted scornfully.  "Too busy totin' to pan it,"
he snapped.  "Rain's due 'most any time an' he's workin'
to beat it.  I don't have to inwestigate it--anybody that's
workin' like that knows what he's doin'; an' I ain't never
heard it said that Blascom's any fool.  If he didn't know
it was rich, he wouldn't be workin' so hard in th' sun."

"Well, mebby," doubted Hank, always a cold blanket
in regard to his companion's contentions.  "Looks like
he ain't got no water for pannin', like everybody else.
He ain't lazy like you, an' instead of wastin' his time
around th' hotel like us he's totin' sand so he can work
while th' crick's floodin'.  When th' floodin' comes
everybody else'll have to set down an' watch it till it gets low
enough.  Me an' you would be doin' somethin' if we
follered his example.  Where you goin'?" he demanded as
his sneering companion walked away.

Sinful flashed a pitying glance over his shoulder.  "To
git a handful of that sand an' prove you ain't got no
sense, that's where.  You keep yore eye open for Blascom
while I raid his sand pile.  Here's a can," he said,
stooping to pick it up.  "It'll mebby tell us somethin'
when we gits it to some water.  If you see him a-comin'
out, throw a pebble at me.  'Twon't take me long, once
I git my boots off."

Hank obeyed and scouted toward the hut, finally
stopping when he could see its door.  Watching it a few
minutes he saw Blascom pass the opening, and after
another few minutes, the watcher slipped away, hastening
toward the sand pile.  Reaching it, he saw no signs of
his partner and backed into the brush to await
developments.  He no sooner had stopped behind a patch of
scrub oak than he caught sight of Sinful carefully
picking his way across the stony ground in his socks, one
hand carrying the can, the other a pair of boots.  On his
leathery face was an expression of vast surprise and
pious awe.  He seemed almost stunned, but he was not
so lost to his surroundings that he ignored a bounding,
clicking pebble which passed across his path.  Clutching
can and boots in a firmer grip, he sprinted with
praiseworthy speed and agility toward the somewhat distant
railroad track.  In his wake sped Hank, an unholy grin
wreathing his face at the goatlike progress of his old
friend over the rocky ground.  To Sinful's ears the sound
of those clattering boots spelled a determined pursuit
and urged him to better efforts.  At last, winded, a
cramp in his side and his feet so tender and bruised that
he preferred to fight rather than go any farther in his
socks, he dropped the boots, drew his gun, and wheeled.
At sight of Hank's well-known and inelegant figure a
look of relief flashed over his face, swiftly followed by
a frown of deep and palpitant suspicion.

"What you mean, chasin' me like that?" he shouted.

"Gosh!" panted Hank as he drew near.  "That was
shore close!  An' for an old man yo're a runnin' fool.
Jack rabbits an' coyotes can cover ground, but they can't
stack up ag'in' you.  Did you see him?"

Sinful, one boot on and the other balanced in his hand,
looked up.  "No, I didn't; did you?" he demanded,
suspicion burning in his old eyes.

"Shore," answered Hank, lying with a facile ease due
to much practice.  "He suddenly busted out of th' door
with a rifle in his hands an' headed for his sand pile.  I
dusted lively, heaved th' pebble; an' here we are."  He
cast an apprehensive glance behind him and then sharply
admonished his friend.  "Hustle, you!  Yo're settin'
there like there ain't no mad miner projectin' around in
th' brush with a Winchester!  Think I want to git shot?"

"I reckon mebby you ought to," retorted Sinful, struggling
erect and trying each tender foot in turn.  "Stone
bruises, cuts, an' stickers, an' all because you git in a
panic!" he growled.  "Come on, you old fool: there's
a pool of water in th' crick, t'other side of th' railroad
bridge.  Yo're too smart, you are.  Mebby yore eyes'll pop
out when you see what's in this here can.  Great guns,
what a sight I've seen!"

Panning gold in a tomato can might be difficult for a
novice, but Sinful's cunning old hands did the work
speedily and well.  After repeated refillings and mystic
gyrations he carefully poured out the last of the water
and peered eagerly into the can, bumping his head solidly
against his companion's, for Hank was as eagerly curious.

Sinful placed it reverently on the creek bank and
looked at his staring friend.

"An' only a canful," he muttered in awe.

"Glory!" breathed Hank, and looked again to make
sure.  "Nothin' but dust--but Good Lord!"  He packed
a vile pipe with viler tobacco, lit it, and arose.  "No
wonder he grabbed his gun an' dusted for his sand pile!
Come on, Sinful: we got a long walk ahead of us, some
quick packin' to do, an' a long walk back ag'in.  If we
only could get a couple of mules, we'd load 'em with
three-hundred pounds apiece an' go down th' crick a
day's journey.  It'd be worth it."

Sinful looked scornfully at his worrying companion
and slowly arose.  "No day's journey for me, mules or
no mules," he declared, spitting emphatically.  "I ain't
shore it would be worth it, considerin' th' time an' th'
trouble; but it's worth pannin' right where it is.  I've
jumped claims before in my life an' I ain't too old to
jump another.  When I looked over that bank an' saw
that wallopin' big rock a-stickin' up in th' crick bed, from
bank to bank; an' th' ditch he's put down on th'
upstream side, I purty near knew what th' sand pile would
show.  I'm bettin' he's got *bushels* of gold at th' foot of
that riffle.  If his location don't run up that far, an'
mebby it don't, we got somethin' to keep us busy.  An'
if it does, we've mebby got more to keep us busy.  Come
on, you wall-eyed ijut: we got to be gittin' back to camp.
Great Jerus'lam!"

The marshal of Windsor, riding slowly toward town
south of the railroad track after a long detour to mask
his trail, saw two scarecrows bumping along the ties,
bobbing up and down jerkily as they tried to stretch their
stride to cover two ties and repeatedly fell back to one.
They were well to the northeast of him and to his left,
but he thought they looked familiar and he pushed more
to the south to remain hidden from them while he rode
ahead.  When he finally had reached a point south of the
station he turned and rode toward it, timing his arrival
to coincide with theirs.

Sinful grinned up at the smiling rider, his missing
teeth only making more prominent the few brown fangs
he had left.  Two dribbles of tobacco juice had dried at
each corner of his mouth and reached downward across
his chin, giving him an appearance somewhat striking.  He
mopped the perspiration from his face by a vigorous wipe
of his soiled shirt sleeve and lifted each palpitating foot
in turn.

"Been ridin' far?" he asked in idle curiosity and in
great good humor, considering the aches in his body and
the soreness of his feet.

"Oh, just around exercisin' Oh My," answered Tex.
"I thought you two was located out on Antelope, west
of town?"

"We are," replied Hank, ignoring his partner's furtive
elbow.  "Been gettin' sorta tired of it, though, not havin'
nothin' to do but set around an' look at th' same things.
Thought we'd take a look at th' Buffaler, south of th'
track; but it ain't much better, though there is some
water in th' pools.  Anyhow, Antelope's kinda crowded.
We may shift our camp.  Jake's out on Buffaler som'er's,
ain't he?"

Tex nodded and glanced at the can.  "Been fishin'?"

"If we had enough bait to fill that can we'd 'a' ate it
ourselves," chuckled Hank.

"Naw, there ain't no fish left now," said Sinful.
"Hard-luck coffeepot, that's all it is.  Good as anythin'
else, an' shore plentiful.  Punch a hole in each side of
it an' shove in a piece of wire, an' she'll cook anythin'
small.  Ain't it hot?"

"Hot, an' close," replied the marshal.  "Well, I reckon
I'll be gettin' along.  Feels like rain is due 'most any
time, though I don't reckon we'll get any before th' moon
changes.  Still, you can't allus tell."

"Can't tell nothin' about it at all, this kind of
weather," observed Hank, the can now against the other
side of his body.  "But one thing's shore--it's gettin'
closer every day.  So-long," and the grotesque couple
went bobbing down the track toward their own camp.

Tex looked after them, humorously shaking his head.
"'It's gettin' closer every day,'" he mimicked.  "Shore
it is.  Pair of cunning old coyotes, an' entirely too frank
about Buffalo Creek."  Just then Sinful leaped into the
air, cracked his sore heels together and struck his
companion across the shoulders.  This display of exuberance
awakened a strong suspicion in the marshal.  "I'll keep
my eye on you two old codgers," he soliloquized,
thoughtfully feeling of the handcuffs in his pocket.
Wheeling abruptly he rode up to the station, where Jerry
grinningly awaited him.  "Let me know when those
mossbacks go west, Jerry, if you see them," he requested.
"They're too cussed innocent an' happy to suit me.  How
are things?"

Jerry shook his head.  "I'll be cussed if I know.  But
I know one thing, and that is that I'm apologizing to
you for the way Jane shut the door in your face.  I don't
know what's the matter with her lately."

"There's never any tellin' about wimmin," said Tex,
smiling.  "An' don't you ever apologize to anybody for
anythin' she does.  Wimmin see things from a different
angle, an' they ain't got a man's defenses.  A difference
in structure is likely to be accompanied by differences in
nature, in this case notably in the more delicate balance
of th' nervous system.  Their reactions are both more
subtle an' more extreme.  I wasn't insulted, but just
folded my tents like th' Arabs, an' as silently stole away.
Which I'm now goin' to repeat.  See you later, mebby."

Jerry watched his visitor ride off and a puzzled frown
crept over his face.

"Wish I knew more about you, Mr. Tex Jones," he
muttered.  "You're either as fine a human as I have
seen, or the smoothest rascal: and I'm d--d if I can tell
which."

The marshal rode to his office and sought the chair
outside the door, his thoughts running back over recent
events.  Blascom's find and the physical condition of the
man naturally brought to mind Jake's narrow escape.
The latter bothered him, notwithstanding the certainty
that Blascom would keep a good watch over the sick man.
While he anxiously ran over his scant knowledge of
Jake's illness and the remedies he had employed, he
glanced up to see Doctor Horn nervously hurrying
toward him.  The doctor, in view of what he now knew
of him, became a very interesting study for the marshal.

"Marshal!" cried the physician while yet a score of
paces away, "somebody burst down my door during my
absence and took some drugs which by their nature are
not common out here and, consequently, hard to obtain.
I am formally reporting it, sir."

"Doctor," replied Tex, "when a patient comes to you
for help you naturally expect him to be frank and truthful.
It is the same with a peace officer, who endeavors
to cure not the ills of a single unit of society, but the ills
of society as a whole.  Here, as in your own field, a
refractory or diseased unit may, and generally does,
affect the body of which he is a part.  So, as a social
physician, I must ask of you that frankness so valuable
to a medico.  First, what drugs did you miss?"

"Your analogy, while clever, is sophistical and is
entirely unwarranted," retorted the physician, taken
somewhat aback by the words and attitude of a "cowhand,"
as he contemptuously characterized punchers.  "Leaving
it out of the argument, except to say, in passing, that
your 'social physician' does not exercise a corrective
influence, but rather a punitive one, I hardly see how the
naming of the missing drugs will give any enlightenment
to a layman.  There still exists the forcible breaking into,
and the unlawful entry of, my residence."

"For purposes of identification it might be well to
know the drugs that were stolen; but I'll waive that.
What time would you say this occurred?" asked Tex
with professional interest.

"Some time yesterday," answered the physician.

"You certainly are not very specific, Doctor," commented
Tex.  "I'm afraid we must come closer to it than
that.  You say you were away at the time?"

"Yes: I did not return until quite late."

"In body or in spirit, Doctor Horn?"

"Sir, I do not understand you!" retorted the complainant,
flushing slightly and gazing with great intensity
into the marshal's eyes.

"There have been many others who did not understand
me," replied Tex, calmly rolling and lighting a
cigarette.  "I'm mentioning that so you won't think you
are an exotic variation of our large and interesting
species.  The study of man is the greatest of all, Doctor.
The words were more of a joke than anything else.
Have you ever suffered from hallucinations, Doctor?
I've heard it said that too close confinement, too close an
application to study, and too intimate relations with
chemicals, volatile and otherwise, operate that way in
these altitudes.  Hothouse gardeners, for instance,
notably those engaged in raising poppies, have slight
touches of mental aberration.  You are certain that your
house was entered while you were away?"

The doctor, arms akimbo, was staring at this calm
mind-reader as though in a trance, too stunned to be
insulted.

Tex continued: "The value of the missing drugs and
the damage to the door undoubtedly will be paid to you,
Doctor, in a few days.  In fact, I am so confident of that
that I will pay you just damages now, taking your receipt
in return.  Do you agree with a great many people that
a physician to the body has much the same high
obligations as those belonging to a minister or a priest, who
are physicians to the soul?  That his work is of a
humanitarian nature before it is a matter of remuneration;
that he should hold himself fit and ready to answer calls
of distress without regard to his own bodily comfort?"

Doctor Horn still stared at him, rallying his thoughts.
He nodded assent as he groped.

"There are professional secrets, Doctor, which need
not be divulged," continued Tex.  "I understand that
you have a horse?"

The physician nodded again.

"Then use it.  I have reason to believe that a man
named Jake, a miner, who is located on the first fork of
Buffalo Creek, west of town, urgently needs your
professional services.  I understand that he has been brought
back from death from alcoholic poisoning, but will be
much safer if you look at him.  Did you say you are
going now?  And by the way, before you start, let me
say that the old idea of peace officers being corrective
forces, in a punitive sense only, is rapidly becoming
obsolete among the more intelligent and broader-minded
men of that class.  While punishment is undoubtedly
needed as a warning to others, the cure's the thing, to
paraphrase an old friend of mine.  Is there any
connection between the natures of the missing drugs and
alcoholic poisoning, Doctor?  But we are wasting time.
This little problem can wait.  Just now speed's the thing.
Drop around again soon, Doctor: I always enjoy the
companionship of an educated man," and the marshal,
slowly arising, bowed and entered his little office, the
door softly closing behind him.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE RUSH`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE RUSH

.. vspace:: 2

The marshal was leaving the hotel after breakfast
the following morning when he saw Jerry walking
briskly toward him from the station and he waited for
the agent to come up.

"Those two old prospectors just passed the station,
going west along the track," Jerry informed him.  "From
the way they were loaded down it looked as though they
are moving their camp.  And how men as old as they are
can carry such packs is beyond my understanding."

"Thanks, Jerry," said the marshal.  "Go back to th'
station.  I've got to take a ride.  Trouble's brewin', I
reckon."

Passing the hotel on his way to Carney's stable, Tex
saw a running miner hurrying into it and in a moment
an excited half-score of armed prospectors poured into
the street, shouting and gesticulating.  The little crowd
picked up additions as it passed along the street and
headed westward to strike the railroad at an angle.  Some
of them had partners with them and, when the tracks
had been reached, quite a number turned and ran
eastward toward their camps to pack up belongings and
supplies.

"Mental telepathy?" murmured Tex, watching them
in some surprise.  "Hank and Sinful are too clever
rascals to tell anybody anything of value that they might
know.  Huh!  That's only a name, I guess, for
subconscious weighing of facts subconsciously received:
instinctive deductions from observations too vague to be
definitely recognized.  Instinct, I'm afraid you have more
names than most people recognize.  But it does beat the
devil, at that!  An animal does seemingly wonderful and
impossible things because of the keenness of its scent,
which passes our understanding; birds of prey have eyes
nearly telescopic in power--but how the knowledge of
this gold strike has spread about so quickly when
everyone concerned in it naturally would be secretive, is too
much for me.  One thing is certain, however: it is known,
and I have work to do, and quickly!"

Omar welcomed him and soon was stringing the miles
out behind him as smoothly almost as running water.
There was no need to urge the animal at its best speed,
for it was doing two miles to the miners' one and easily
would beat them to the scene of action.

When he reached the second fork, Blascom was not at
the hut and, leading the roan into a brush-filled hollow,
the marshal took his rifle from its scabbard and went up
to the scene of the miner's operations.  His hail was
followed by a startled crouching on the prospector's part
and a rifle barrel leaped up to the top of the ditch.

"Don't shoot: It's Jones," called the marshal, slowly
emerging from his cover.  "I come up to warn you that
th' rush has started.  Hank an' Sinful ought to get here
in about half an hour, th' others a little behind them.  I'm
aimin' to be referee: th' kind of a referee I once saw at a
turf prize fight: he had to jump in an' thrash both of th'
principals--an' he did it, too.  Get that bonanza cleaned
out and cached yet?"

Blascom swore as he stood up again.  "Yes: but nobody's
goin' to git *this* without a fight!  How th' devil
did they find out I'd struck it rich?"

"Shore this claim is staked an' located?" demanded Tex.

"Yes; an' there's work enough done on it to make it
stick.  But how did they find out I'd struck it?"

"Don't know," answered the marshal.  "You better
climb out an' go off an' hide somewhere in th' brush
from where yore rifle will cover th' cache.  They're keen
as hounds an' there's no use takin' chances of losin' th'
greater to save th' less.  I'll handle this end of it.  If
you hear a shot you better slip back an' look things over.
Get a rustle on you--time's flyin'."

In a few minutes the creek bed and the little hut
appeared to be deserted.  Blascom lay on his stomach at a
point from which he could see his cache and the ditch as
well.  After a short silence there came the sound of a
snapping twig and a few minutes later Sinful's greedy
eyes peered over the creek bank down at the big ditch.
He slid a rifle over the edge and looked around eagerly.
To his side crept Hank, who added his scrutiny to that
of his partner.  Sinful spoke out of one corner of his
mouth as he gazed intently down the creek bed, where
one corner of Blascom's hut could be seen through the
scrawny timber on the little point.  Hank nodded,
crawled to the edge of the bank and was about to slip
over it when a low warning from the brush at their side
froze them both.

"Stay where you are," said a well-known voice, cold
and unfriendly.  "That claim's got one owner now, an'
he ain't lookin' for no partners, a-tall.  Better shove up
yore hands an' face th' crick.  You know me--an' so far
you ain't seen me miss, yet."

Tex emerged from his cover, a Colt in one hand, a
pair of shining handcuffs clinking from their short chains
as they swung from the other.  Snapping one over
Sinful's wrist he curtly ordered Hank to his partner's side
and linked the two together.  Disarming them he
unloaded the weapons, appropriated the cartridges, and
searched them both to make certain they could do him
no injury.

"Sit down," he said, "an' keep quiet.  Th' real show is
about to start.  Who all did you chumps tell about this
strike?"

Hank glared at Sinful, Sinful glared at Hank, and
then both glared at their captor.  "Nobody, so strike me
blind!" snapped Sinful.  "Hank ain't been out of my
sight since we left here yesterday.  Think we're fools?"

"Anything but that," grimly rejoined Tex.  "Shut up,
now: I want to listen.  Any play you make that don't
suit me will call for a gun butt bein' bent over yore heads.
If I need you, I'll call: an' you come a-runnin'.  Hear
me?"

"We could come faster if we was loose from each
other," whispered Sinful in bland innocence.  "Couldn't
we, Hank?"

"Can't come fast, a-tall, hooked up this way," said
Hank earnestly.

"Shut up!" snapped the marshal in a low voice.

A winged grasshopper rasped up over the bank and
rasped back again instantly.  A few birds chirped and sang
across the creek bed and chickadees flashed and darted
in an endless search for food.  Several birds shot
suddenly into the air from the fringe of timber and brush
on the farther bank halfway between the ditch and the
cabin, quickly followed by vague movements along the
ground.  Then more than a half-score of men popped into
sight and, leaping from the steep bank, landed in the bed
of the creek and scurried to different points, fooled by
the numerous sumps which Blascom had dug in his quest
for water.  None of them had the knowledge possessed
by Hank and Sinful, and the weather conditions had been
such that the ages of the various sumps could not be
quickly determined.  Each man, eager to grab a hole
while there was one left to grab, and to become
established, chose a mark and appropriated it without loss of
time.  No sooner had the scurrying crowd selected their
grounds than the marshal, who had crept along the top
of the high bank, jumped over it and held two guns on
them, guns which they had good reason to respect.

"Han's up!" he roared.  "*Pronto* an' high!  You-all
know me--don't gamble!  I drop th' first man that
makes a gunplay.  *Hank!  Sinful!*" he shouted.  "Come
a-runnin'!"  Crouched, he faced the scowling crowd, his
steady hands before his hips, his steady guns ready to
prove his mastery.  The handcuffed pair, squabbling as
they came, shuffled up to him.

"You yank me any more an' I'll bust yore fool head!"
growled Sinful to his bosom friend.  "Just because yore
laigs is longer is no reason for playin' kite with me!
Knock-kneed old fool!  Here we are, Marshal: what you
want?"

"Hold yore han's close," ordered Tex, his left gun
slipping into its sheath, his right becoming even more
menacing.  With the free hand he fished out the key,
handed it to Hank and waited until he had made use of
it.  It went swiftly back into the pocket and the left hand
again held a gun.  "Slip around an' take their weapons!"
he snapped.  "Don't get between them an' me.  Lively!"

"We ain't goin' to spoil yore aim, Marshal," Hank
assured him with great fervor.  "Come on, you
bald-headed old buzzard--git them guns for th' marshal!"  He
gave his companion a shove forward.  "He done us
a good turn--an' one good turn deserves another.  Come on!"

"Who you shovin'?" blazed Sinful, starting away.

"You ain't got no right, cuttin' in here!" shouted a
red-faced, angry miner, his companions growling and
cursing their hearty endorsements.  "Yo're a town
marshal, not a county sheriff!  Turn them guns off us!"

"I got a wider range than marshal," rejoined Tex
grimly and not for an instant relaxing his alertness.
"Gus Williams said so when he 'pinted me; an', besides,
I got th' very same authority out here as I have in town:
twelve sections of th' Colt statutes as made an' pervided.
Blascom has legally established his claim, drove his
stakes, and done his work on it.  When he comes he'll
p'int out his boundaries.  Hold still, you two!  Git 'em
all, Sinful; don't overlook nothin', Hank!  No use turnin'
this crick into a slaughter-pen."

"I ain't likely to overlook nothin'," replied Sinful,
moving more rapidly, "though I'm shore bothered by
these here cussed contraptions on my wrist.  You'll
notice Hank unlocked *his* end of 'em!  D--d claim
jumpers!  A man's rights ain't safe no more these days.
Hank an' me shore would 'a' planted some of this passel
if they'd bothered us.  How th' devil did they find out
about it, *I* want to know?"

"What you reckon yo're goin' to do with us all?"
sneered a wrathy prospector, his hands slowly coming
down toward a harmless belt.

"I'll tell you that after I see Blascom," answered the
marshal, firing a shot into the ground.  He ordered
Sinful and Hank to pile the weapons at his feet, locked them
together again and ordered them to get closer to the rest
of the miners.  The shot brought Blascom as rapidly as
he could get there with a due regard to caution.  Obeying
Tex's terse command he slid down the bank and went to him.

"Shore yore claim takes in th' ditch an' th' riffle?"
asked Tex in a whisper.

"Th' new one does," answered Blascom.  "I sent off
th' papers with Jerry, like you said, th' day I got th'
dynamite."

"Th' old one any good?"

"Not much; not much better'n day wages.  'Tain't no
good without water; but neither is th' other, now."

"This crowd is fooled by yore old sumps," explained
Tex hurriedly.  "If we drive 'em off they'll be back
ag'in, an' mebby add yore murder to th' rest of their
crimes.  I can't stay here day an' night; an' if I could,
they'd get us both after dark, or at long range in
daylight.  You got to let 'em stay.  By tomorrow there'll be
twice as many.  I'm scared some'll come slippin' up any
minute an' turn th' tables on us.  You let Sinful an'
Hank divide a quarter of th' sand pannin' between
'em--they'll commit murder for half that, an' you've got to
have partners in case of a rush.  Besides, rain's due any
day now, an' you need 'em to beat it."

"I hate like--" began Blascom stubbornly.

"We all has to do things we hate!" cut in his companion.
"You can't do anythin' else.  If you can, tell
me quick!"

Blascom shook his head.  He could do nothing else.
He turned and faced the crowd, telling it to go ahead
and stake out claims where each man had started to, on
condition that there was to be no more jumping and that
they join him in putting up a solid front against any
newcomers other than partners.  The scowls died out,
heads nodded, and the hustle and bustle began again
from where it had left off.

Tex called the Siamesed pair to him and they listened,
with their eyes glowing, to Blascom's offer of limited
partnership, Hank nearly swallowing his cud when asked
if he was satisfied with the terms.  Sinful smelled a rat
and looked properly suspicious, his keen old mind racing
along on the theory that no one ever gave away anything
valuable.  Suddenly he grinned so expansively that a
generous stream of tobacco juice rolled down his sharp
chin.

"Us three ag'in' that gang," he mused.  "Huh!  Fair
enough, *I* says.  Hank an' me can lick 'em by ourselves.
Can't we, Hank?"

"Shore!" promptly answered the other weather-beaten
old rascal.  "We shore kin, Sinful!"

Tex smiled at the cheerful old reprobates, bound closer
together now than ever they had been before.  "I ought
to dump th' pair of you in th' new jail," he said, "though
it shore wouldn't get no benefit from it.  Yo're a pair of
land pirates an' you both ought to be hung from th'
yardarm of some cottonwood tree.  Hold out yore hands
till I turn you loose.  You two youngsters want to keep
th' bargain, or I *will* hang you!"

"Glad to git shet of them cuffs," growled Sinful.
"Hank takes sich long steps an' walks sideways, th' old
fool.  We'll play square, won't we, Hank?  There; he
said so, too.  We allus has felt kind of friendly to
Blascom, ain't we, Hank?  Shore we has.  An' he needs
us to keep our eyes on them blasted claim jumpers.  'Sides,
he's a friend of yourn, Marshal: an' we ain't forgettin'
them few dollars we won from you t'other night--*are*
we, Hank?"  His shrewd old eyes baffled Tex's attempt
to read just what he thought about the poker game.

"We ain't!" emphatically replied Hank, spitting
copiously and vehemently.  "We'll make these claim
jumpers herd close to home; yes, sir, by glory!"  He paused
a moment and leaned nearer to his companion's ear.
"*Won't* we, Sinful?" he suddenly shouted.

"Who you yowlin' at that way?" blazed Sinful, and
then his eyes popped wide open in frank surprise.
"Cussed if th' doc ain't got th' fever, too!" he
ejaculated.  "Here he comes up th' crick!  Beats all how news
does spread!  An', great Jerus'lam: if he ain't as sober
as a watched Puritan!"

Nodding right and left Doctor Horn rode slowly
among the busy claim jumpers and drew rein in front of
Tex and his companions.

"How do you do, gentlemen?" he said, smiling.  "I
see you're quite busy, Marshal, which seems to be a habit
of yours.  I happened to have a patient out this way,
down on the lower fork, and while I was in his vicinity
I thought I would drop in and compliment Blascom for
his care of Jake.  While the efficient treatment he first
received undoubtedly saved his life, Blascom's nursing
comes in for well-earned praise.  He is still a sick man,
although out of danger.  I hope you will disregard our
former conversation, so far as my part of it is concerned,
Marshal.  Good day to you all," and wheeling, he rode
up a break in the creek bank and slowly became lost to
sight among the bowlders and timber.

Sinful had watched both men carefully while the
doctor spoke, and now he covertly glanced at the marshal,
who was gazing after the departing physician.  Then he
looked at Blascom, and from him to his own, disreputable
partner.

"Come on, Hank," he said.  "If any of these gold
thieves start swappin' claims, we'll play 'em a smart tune
for 'em to dance to.  There's shore been a-plenty of lives
saved on this crick plumb recent--our own, mebby,
among 'em.  An' who do you reckon yo're a-starin' at?"

"You, you pore ol' fool!" retorted Hank.  He blew
out a bleached cud, rammed in a fresh one, nodded at
Blascom and the contemplative marshal, and followed
his impatient partner toward their packs and guns.

Tex slowly turned and looked after them.  "Hey,
Sinful!" he called.  "You still makin' coffee in old tin
cans?  If you are, you want to watch 'em close on
account of sand gettin' in 'em!"

Sinful nudged his companion, stopped, scratched his
head, and then grinned.

"Don't have to use 'em *now*.  We got all our traps
along, an' th' old coffeepot is with 'em, kivver an' all.
Anyways, *we* don't mind a little sand once in awhile--*do*
we, Hank?"

"No, sir, by glory!" cried Hank.  "Not no more, we
don't, a-tall!"





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.. _`"HERE LIES THE ROAD TO ROME!"`:

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   CHAPTER XVIII


.. class:: center medium bold

   "HERE LIES THE ROAD TO ROME!"

.. vspace:: 2

A few nights later Tex awakened to feel his
little lean-to shaking until he feared it would
collapse.  A deafening roar on the roof made an
inferno of noise, the great hailstones crashing and
rolling.  Flash after flash of vivid lightning seemed
wrapped in the volleying crashes of the thunder.
A sudden shift in the hurricane-like wind drove a
white broadside against his front windows, both panes
of glass seeming spontaneously to disintegrate.
Another gust overturned a freight wagon in the road
before the office and tore its tarpaulin cover from it as
though it were tied on with strings, whisking it out
of sight through the incessant lightning flashes like
the instant passing of some huge ghost.  The
teamster, who saw no reason to pay for hotel beds
while he had the wagon to sleep in, went rolling up
the slatted framework and down again, bounced to
his knees, and crawled frantically free, beaten by
the streaking hail and buffeted by the shrieking
wind.  He was blown solidly against the lean-to,
almost constantly in the marshal's sight because
of the continuous illumination.  Groping along the
wall, he reached the shattered window and, desperate
for shelter, promptly dived through it and rolled
across the room.

Tex laughed, the sound of it lost to his own ears.
"Yo're welcome, stranger!" he yelled.  "But I'm
sayin' yo're some precipitate!  Better gimme a hand
to stop up that window, or she'll blow out th' walls
and lift off th' roof.  Grab this table an' we'll up-end
it ag'in th' openin'.  I'll prop it with th' benches from
th' jail.  That's right.  Ready?  Up she goes."

After no mean struggle the window was closed
enough to give protection against the raging wind,
the two benches holding it securely.  Then Tex
struck a match and lit both of his lamps.

"We don't hardly need any light, but this is a lot
steadier," he shouted, turning to look at his guest.
His eyes opened wide and he stared unbelievingly.
"Good Lord, man!  You look like a slaughter-house!
Here, lemme look you over!"

The teamster, cut, bruised, and streaked with
blood, held up his hand in quick protest, shouting his
reply.  "'Taint nothin' but th' wallerin' I did when
th' wagon turned over, an' th' beatin' from th' hail.
I've seen it worse than this, friend.  These stones
are only big as hens' aigs, but I've seen 'em large as
goose aigs, an' lost three yoke of oxen from 'em.
I was freightin' in a load of supplies for a surveyin'
party, down on th' old Dry Route, southwest of th'
Caches.  One ox was killed, his yokemate pounded'
senseless, an' th' others couldn't stand th' strain an'
lit out.  I never saw 'em again.  I was under th'
wagon when they left, which didn't turn over till
th' hail changed into rain, an' I wouldn't 'a' poked
out my head for all th' oxen in th' country.  This here's
a little better than a fair prairie hail storm.  Gosh,"
he said, grinning, as he glanced at the badge on his
companion's vest.  "I got plenty of nerve, all right,
bustin' into th' marshal's office!  Ain't got any likker,
have you?"

Tex handed him a full bottle and packed his pipe.
The deafening crashing of the hailstones grew less
and less, a softer roar taking its place as the rain
poured down in seemingly solid sheets.  The great
violence of the wind was gone and the lightning
flashed farther and farther away.

"Feel better now," said the teamster, passing the
bottle to his host and taking out his pipe.  He
accepted the marshal's sack of tobacco and leaned
back, puffing contentedly.  "Sounds a lot better, now.
I'd ruther drowned than be beat to death, any time.
There won't be a trail left tomorrow an' not a crick,
ravine, or ditch fordable.  Some of 'em with sand
bottoms will be dangerous for three or four days.
I once saw th' Pawnee rise so quick that it was
fetlock deep when I started in, an' wagon-box deep
before I could get across--an' a hull lot wider, too,
I'm tellin' you.  An' yet some fools still camp in
dried crick beds!"

"That's just what I been thinkin' about," said
the marshal, a look of worry on his face.  "Out on
Buffalo Crick there's near two dozen miners with
claims staked out on th' dried bed.  It shore would
be terrible if this caught 'em asleep!"

"Don't you worry, Marshal," reassured his guest,
laughingly.  "Them fellers may have claims in a
crick bed, but they don't sleep on 'em.  They know
too much!"

Tex related what a hail storm had done to a trail
herd one night years before, and so they talked,
reminiscence following reminiscence, until dawn
broke, dull and watery, and they started for the hotel,
to rout out the cook for hot coffee and an early breakfast.

All day it rained, but with none of the fury of the
darker hours, and for the next ten days it continued
intermittently.  There was no special news from
Buffalo Creek except that it had changed its bed in
several places, and that two miners had been forced
to swim for their lives.  It was noteworthy,
however, that the prospectors of the country roundabout
began to spend dust with reckless carelessness.  The
hotel was well patronized during the day, and the
nights were times of great hilarity.  Drink flowed
like water and old quarrels, fed by fresh fuel, added
their share of turbulence to the new ones.

Sleeping late in the mornings, the marshal was on
his feet until nearly every dawn, stopping brawls,
deciding dangerous contentions, and once or twice
resorting to stern measures.  The little jail at one
time was too full for further prisoners and had
forced him to resort to fines, which brought his
impartiality and honesty into question.  He had been
forced to wound two men and had been shot at
from cover, all on one night.  He grew more taciturn,
grimmer, colder, wishing to avoid a killing, but
fearing that it must come or the town would turn into
a drunken riot.  Then came the climax to the
constantly growing lawlessness.

Busy in repairing washouts along the railroad and
strengthening the three little bridges across the
creeks of his section of track, Murphy and Costigan,
reinforced by half a dozen other section-hands from
points east, who had rolled into town on their own
hand car, had scarcely seen the town for more than
a week when they came in, late one Saturday
afternoon.  The extra hands were bedded at the toolshed
and at Murphy's box car, and took their meals at
Costigan's, whose thrifty wife was glad of the extra
work for the little money it would bring her.  Well
knowing the feeling of the Middle West of that time
against his race, the section-boss cautioned his crew
to avoid the town as much as they could; but rough
men are rough men, and wild blades are wild.
Knowing the wisdom in the warning did not make it sit
any easier on them, added to which was the chafing
under the restraint and the galling sense of injustice.

Sunday morning found them quiet; but Sunday
noon found them restless and resentful.  The lively
noise of the town called invitingly across the
right-of-way and one of them, despite orders, departed to
get a bottle of liquor.  He drew hostile glances as he
made his way to the bar in the saloon facing the
station, but bought what he wanted and went out
with it entirely unmolested.  The news he brought
back was pleasing and reassuring and discounted the
weight of the section-boss' admonitions, and later,
when the bottle had been tipped in vain and thirsts
had only been encouraged by the sops given them,
some wilder soul among the crowd arose and
announced that he was going to paint the town.  There
was no argument, no holding back, and the half-dozen,
laughing and singing, sallied forth to frolic
or fight as Fate decreed.

The first saloon they entered served them and let
them depart unharmed and without insult, raising
their spirits and edging their determination to enjoy
what pleasures the town might have for them.  They
were as good as any men in town, and they knew it,
which was right and proper; but soon it did not
satisfy them to know it: they must tell everyone they
met.  This, also, was right and proper, although
hardly wise; but in the telling there swiftly crept
a fighting tone, a fighting mood, a fighting look, and
fighting words; yet they were behaving not one
whit different from the way gangs of miners had
behaved since the town was built.  The difference
was sharp and sufficient: The miners had been in
the town of their friends; the section-gang was in
the town of its enemies.

The half-dozen entered the hotel barroom, jostled
and elbowed, jostling and elbowing in return, their
tempers smoldering and ready to burst into flames.
Calling for whiskey at the bar they drank it avidly
and turned to look over the room, where all sorts
and conditions of rough men and ready fighters were
frowningly watching them.  The frowns grew
deeper, and here and there a gibe or veiled insult
arose above the general noise.  The gibes became
more bitter, the insults less veiled, and finally a huge
miner, belted and armed, stood up and shouted for
silence.  Sensing trouble the crowd obeyed him,
waiting with savage eagerness to hear what he would say,
to see what he would do.

"I'm goin' to tell you a story," he cried, and
forthwith made good his promise.  It was not a parlor
story by any stretch of imagination, and it ended with
St. Peter slamming shut the gates of heaven as he
repeated one of the then popular slogans of the
country along the roadbeds, "No Irish need apply."  It
was not couched in language that St. Peter would
use, and suitable epithets of the teller's own gave
added weight to the insult of the tale.  Still swearing
the miner sat down, an ugly leer on his face, while
shouts, laughter, catcalls, and curses answered from
every part of the room.

"Run 'em out of town!" came a shout, which
swiftly became a universal demand.

The track-layer nearest the door, a burly, red-haired,
red-faced fighting man, leaped swiftly to the
miner's table, kicked the half-drawn gun from his
hand, and went to the floor with him.  "St. Peter
will open no doors to th' like av ye!" he shouted.
"I'm sendin' ye to h--l, instead!"

The bartender, fearing pistol work, whipped his
own over the counter and yelled his warning and his
demand for fair play.  "I'll drop th' man that draws!
Let 'em have it out, man to man!"

This suited the crowd as an appetizer for what was
to follow, and chairs and tables crashed as it surged
forward to better see the fight, the five section-hands,
their broad backs against the bar, forming one side of
the pushing, heaving ring, their faces set, their huge
fists clenched, in spirit taking and giving the flailing
blows of the rolling combatants, so intent, so lost in
the struggle that consciousness of their own danger
gradually faded from their minds.  They had faith in
their champion and were with him, heart and soul.

The miner could fight like the graduate he was of
the merciless, ultra-brutal rough-and-tumble of the
long frontier, biting, kneeing, gouging, throttling as
opportunity offered, and he was rapidly gaining the
advantage over his cleaner-fighting opponent until,
breaking a throat hold, barely escaping the fingers
thrust at his eyes and a wolflike snap of murderous
jaws, the Irishman broke free, and staggered to his
feet to make a fight which best suited him.  Great
gasps of relief broke from his tense friends, their low
words of advice and encouragement coming from
between set teeth.

"Steady, Mac, an' time 'em!" whispered his nearest
friend.  "He fights like a beast--lick him like th'
man ye are.  He's as open as a book!"

Panting, his breath whistling through his teeth,
the miner scrambled to his feet, needlessly fearing a
kick as he arose, and rushed, his great arms flaying
before him as he tore in.  Met by a straight left that
caught him on the jaw a little wide of the point aimed
at, he rocked back on his heels, his knees buckling,
and his arms wildly waving to keep his balance.
Before he could recover and set himself, a right flashed
in against his chest and drove him back against the
ring of men behind him.  Gasping, he bent over and
threw himself at his enemy's thighs, missing the hold
by a hair.  The Irishman retreated two swift steps
and waited until his opponent had leaped up and then,
feinting with his left at the swelling jaw, he swung
his right shoulder behind a stiffening right arm and
landed clean and squarely above the brass buckle of
the cartridge belt.  The crash shook the building, for
the miner's feet came up as he was hurled backward
and he struck the floor in a bunched heap.

The bruised and bleeding victor, filling his lungs
with great gulps of foul air, started backing toward
the bar to regain his breath among his friends, but he
staggered sidewise on his course, coming too close to
the first line of the aroused crowd and one of them
leaped on him, the impact toppling him over, just as
the five friends charged.  Chaos reigned.  Shouts,
curses, the stamping of feet, bellows of rage and pain
filled the dusty air with clamor as the crowd surged
backward and forward, the storm center ever nearing
the door.  The valiant half-dozen, profiting by experience,
resisted all efforts to separate them, keeping in
a compact group, shoulder to shoulder, with their
rapidly recovering champion in their middle.  They
had passed the end of the bar, which had been a
sturdy bulwark against their complete encircling, and
the crowd was pouring in to attack from that
once-protected side when a hatless figure leaped through
the deserted rear door, bounded onto the long bar
without changing his stride, dashed along it and
jumped, feet first straight at the heads bobbing
nearest to the stout-hearted six.  It was Costigan who,
not finding Murphy, was acting on his own initiative
and according to his lights.  In his hand was a broken
mattock handle and under its raining blows an
opening rapidly grew in the crowd.  Had he been given
arm room, where his full strength could have been
used, Boot Hill would have reaped a harvest.  Audacity,
that Audacity which is the fairest child of Courage,
the total unexpectedness of his hurtling, spectacular
attack won more for him and his friends than the
deadly effectiveness of the hickory handle.  The
astonished crowd drew back in momentary confusion and
Costigan, cursing at the top of his panting lungs,
shoved the nearly exhausted handful through the door
and into the street.  As the last man staggered
through and pitched to the ground, the club wielder
leaped to the door, barring it with his body.  He was
about to tell the crowd what he thought of it when
the situation changed again.

A hand clutched his shirt collar and yanked him
back and he went striking with the club as he sprawled
beside a battered friend.  The change had been so
sudden and the crowd just recovering from its surprise
at Costigan's flaying attack that it looked like magic.
One instant a red-shirted Irishman, his clothing torn
into shreds, lovingly balancing his favorite weapon;
the next, a calm, cold-faced, blue-shirted, leather-chapped
gunman, bending eagerly forward behind the
pair of out-thrust Colts, his thumbs holding back swift
death in each hand.

"The devil!" growled a miner.

"Aye!" snapped Tex.  "An' I'll find work for idle
hands to do!  *Why do you stop and turn away?  Here
lies th' road to Rome!*" he laughed, exultantly,
sneeringly, insultingly; and never had they heard a laugh
so deadly.  It chilled where words might have
inflamed.  There was not a man who did not shrink
instinctively, for before him stood a killer if ever he
had seen one.

"I only got twelve handy--which dozen of you
want to open th' way for th' rest?" asked the marshal.
His quick eye caught a furtive movement in the
crowd and the roar of his flaming Colt jarred the
room.  The offender-pitched forward before the paralyzed
front line, rocking to and fro in his pain.  "Th'
next man dies!" snapped the marshal, his deadly
intent fully revealed by his face.

The crowd gazed at impersonal Death, balanced
in the two firm hands.  They saw no hesitancy
reflected between the narrowed lids of those calculating
eyes, no qualifying expression on that granite face;
and they were standing where Bud Haines had stood,
facing the man he had faced.  A restless surge set the
mass milling, those behind pushing those in front,
those in front frantically pushing back those behind.
Tense and dangerous as the situation was, a verse of
an immortal fighting poem leaped to the marshal's
mind and a sneering smile flashed over his face.  *Was
none who would be foremost to lead such dire attack;
but those behind cried "Forward!"  And those before
cried "Back!*"  He seemed to tense even more, like some
huge, deadly spider about to spring, and his clearly
enunciated warning, low as it was spoken, reached the
ears of every man in the room.  "Go back to yore
tables, like you was before."

The surge grew and spread, split following split,
until the dragging rearguard sullenly followed its
companions.  The dynamic figure in the door slowly
forsook its crouch, arising to full height.  The
left-hand gun grudgingly slid into its sheath, reluctantly
followed by its more deadly mate.  Casting a final,
contemptuous look at the embarrassed crowd, each
unit of it singled out in turn and silently challenged,
the marshal shoved his hands into his pockets, turned
his back on them with insolent deliberation and
stepped to the street, where a bloody, battered group
of seven had waited to back him up if it should be
needed.

"Yer a man after me own--" began Costigan
thickly between swollen lips, but he was cut short.

"That'll keep.  Take these fellers back where they
belong, an' *keep* 'em there," snapped Tex, the fighting
fire still blazing in his soul.  He watched them depart,
proud of every one of them; and when they had
reached the station he wheeled and went back into
the hotel, had a slowly sipped drink, nodded to his
acquaintances as though nothing out of the ordinary
had occurred, and then sauntered out again without
a backward glance, turning to go to the station.

When he reached the building he stopped and
looked toward the toolshed where Murphy, just back
from a run of inspection up the line, and Costigan,
had turned the corner of the shed and stopped to
renew their argument, which must have been warm
and personal, judging from their motions.  Finally
Costigan, looking for all the world like a scarecrow,
hitched up what remained of his trousers, squared his
shoulders, and limped determinedly toward his little
cottage, glancing neither to the right nor to the left.
Murphy, hands on hips, gazed after him, nodded his
head sharply, and was about to enter the shed when
he caught sight of the motionless two-gun man.  Snapping
his fingers in sudden decision, he started toward
his capable friend, his frame of mind plainly shown
by the way his stride easily took two ties at once.

"God loves th' Irish, or 'twould be diggin' graves
we'd now be doin'," he said.  "An' me away!  But
they'll be mindin' their P's an' Q's after this.  I was
goin' to skin Costigan, but how could I after I learned
what he did?  It ain't th' first time he's tied my hands
by th' quality av his fightin'.  But 'twas well ye took
cards, an' 'twas well ye played 'em, Tex."

"I have due respect for Costigan, but if he leaves
th' railroad property he'll lose it quick," replied the
marshal.  "I turned that mob into a mop, but there's
no tellin' what might happen one of these nights.  Tim,
I wish his family was out of town.  It's no place for
wimmin an' children these days, not with ten marshals.
I can't be everywhere at once, an' I'm watchin'
one house now more than I ought to."

"They're leavin' on tomorry's train east," said
Murphy, breathing a sigh of relief.  "I've Mike's word
for it, an' if he can't get 'em to go without him, then
he's goin' with 'em, superintendent or no superintendent!
I'm sorry that it's my fault that ye had th'
trouble, Tex; I should 'a' stayed close to them d--d
fools."

"There's no harm done, Tim, as it turned out.  It
was comin' to a show-down, gettin' nearer an' nearer
every day.  Now that it's over th' town will be quiet
for a day or two.  I know of marshals who were paid
from eight hundred to a thousand dollars a month--I'm
admittin' that I've earned my hundred in just
about five minutes today.  For about fifteen seconds
th' job was worth a hundred dollars a second--it was
a close call."

"But look at th' honor av it," chuckled Murphy.
"It's marshal av Windsor ye are, Tex--an' ye have
yer Tower, as well!"

Tex laughed, glanced over the straggling town from
Costigan's cottage to another at the other end of the
street.  "I'm not complainin'.  I'm only contrastin'
and showin' that Williams didn't pull any wool over
my eyes when he offered me my princely salary.  I
agreed to it, and I'm paid enough, under th'
circumstances."

"Aye," said Murphy, following his friend's glance,
a sudden smile banishing his anxious frown.  "Money
ain't everythin'.  Perhaps yo're not paid much now,
Tex--but later, who can tell?"





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.. _`A LECTURE WASTED`:

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   CHAPTER XIX


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   A LECTURE WASTED

.. vspace:: 2

That evening Tex had a caller in the person of
Henry Williams, who seemed to be carrying
quite a load of suspicion and responsibility.  He
nodded sourly, and nonchalantly seated himself on a
chair at the other side of the door.  His troubled
mind was not hidden from the marshal, who could
read surface indications of a psychological nature as
well as any man in the West.  No small part of his
poker skill was built upon that ability.  Should he
lead his visitor by easy and natural stages to unburden
himself; make a hearty, blunt opening, or make him
blurt out his thoughts and go on the defensive at
once?  Having anything but respect and liking for the
vicious nephew, he determined to make him as
uncomfortable as possible.  So he paid him the courtesy
of a glance and resumed his apparently deep cogitations.

Henry waited for a few minutes, studying the
ground and the front of his uncle's store and then
coughed impatiently.

'"Tis that," responded Tex abstractedly; "but hot,
an' close.  I was thinkin'," he said, definitely.

Henry looked up inquiringly: "Yes?"

"Yes," said the marshal gravely.  "I was."  His
tone repulsed any comment and he kept on thinking
from where he had left off.

Henry shifted on the chair and recrossed his legs,
one foot starting to swing gently to and fro.  To put
himself *en rapport* with his forbidding companion, he
too, began thinking; or at least he simulated a thinker.
The swinging foot stopped, jiggled up and down a few
times, and began swinging more energetically.  Soon
he began drumming on the chair with the fingers of
one hand.  Presently he shifted his position again,
recrossed his legs, grunted, and drummed alternately
with the fingers of both hands.  Then they drummed
in unison, the nails of one set clicking with the rolling
of the pads of the fingers of the other hand.  Then he
puckered his lips and began to whistle.

"Don't do that!" snapped Tex, and returned to his
cogitations.

"What?  Which?" asked Henry, starting.

"That!" exploded the marshal savagely and
lapsed into intense concentration.

Henry's lips straightened and he looked down at
the drumming fingers, and stopped them.  Squirming
on the chair, he uncrossed his legs and pushed them
out before him, intently regarding the two rounded
groves in the dust made by his high heels.  Then he
glanced covertly at his frowning companion, cleared
his throat tentatively, and became quiet as the frown
changed into a scowl.

The marshal thought that his visitor must have
something important on his mind, something needing
tact and velvety handling.  Otherwise he would have
become discouraged by this time and left.  Was it
about Jane?  That would be the natural supposition,
but he slowly abandoned it.  Henry never had shown
any timidity when speaking about her.  It must be
something concerning the riot in the hotel.

"I say it can't be nothin' else!" fiercely muttered
the marshal, his chair dropping solidly to all fours as
he rammed a fist into an open palm.  "No, sir!  It
*can't!*" He glared at his companion.  "What did you
say?"

"Huh?" demanded Henry, his chair also dropping
to all fours because of the impetus it had received
from his sudden start.  "What for?" he asked inanely.

"What for what?" growled Tex accusingly.  "Who
said: 'What for'?"

"I did: I just wanted to know," hastily explained
Henry in frank amity.

"That's what you said!" retorted Tex, leaning
tensely toward him; "but what did you mean?" he
demanded.

"What you talkin' about?" queried Henry, truly
and sincerely wondering.

"Don't you try to fool me!" warned Tex.  "Don't
pretend you don't know!  An' let me tell you this.
You are wrong, like th' ministers an' all th' rest of th'
theologians.  That's th' truest hypothesis man ever
postulated.  It proves itself, I tell you!  From th'
diffused, homogeneous, gaseous state, whirlin' because
of molecular attraction, into a constantly more
compact, matter state, constantly becomin' more
heterogeneous as pressure varies an' causes a variable
temperature of th' mass.  Integration an' heterogeneity!
From th' cold of th' diffused gases to th'
terrific heat generated by their pressure toward th'
common center of attraction.  Can't you see it, man?"

Henry's mouth remained open and inarticulate.

"You won't answer, like all th' rest!" accused Tex.
"An' what heat!  One huge molten ball, changing th'
force of th' planets nearest, shifting th' universal
balance to new adjustments.  'Equilibrium!' demands
Nature.  An' so th' struggle goes on, ever tryin' to
gain it, an' allus makin' new equilibriums necessary,
like a dog chasin' a flea on th' end of his spine.  Six
days an' a breathin' space!" he jeered.  "Six trillion
years, more likely, an' no time for breathin' spaces!
What you got to say to that, hey?  Answer me this:
What form of force does th' integration postulate?
Centrifugal?  Hah!" he cried.  "You thought you
had me there, didn't you?  No, sir; not centrifugal--centripetal!
Integration--centripetal!  Gravity proves
it.  Centrifugal is th' destroyer, th' maker of
satellites--not th' builder!  Bah!" he grunted.  "You
can't disprove a word of it!  Try it--just try it!"

Henry shook his head slowly, drew a deep breath
and sought a more comfortable position.  "These
here chairs are hard, ain't they?" he remarked, feeling
that he had to say something.  Surely it was safe to
say that.

Tex leaped to his feet and scowled down at him.
"Evadin', are you?" he demanded.  Then his voice
changed and he placed a kindly hand on his companion's
shoulder.  "There ain't no use tryin' to refute
it, Hennery," he said.  "It can't be done--no, sir--it
can't be done.  Don't you ever argue with me again
about this, Hennery--it only leads us nowhere.  Was
it Archimedes who said he could move th' earth if he
only had some place to stand?  He wasn't goin' to try
to lift himself by his boot straps, was he, th' old fox?
That's th' trouble, Hennery: after all is said we still
got to find some place to stand."  He glanced over
Henry's head to see Doctor Horn smiling at him and
he wondered how much of his heavy lecture the
physician had heard.  Had he expected an educated man to
be an auditor he would have been more careful.
"That was th' greatest hypothesis of all--the
hypothesis of Laplace--it answered th' supposedly
unanswerable.  Science was no longer on th' defensive,
Hennery," he summed up for the newcomer's benefit.

"Truly said!" beamed the doctor, getting a little
excited.  "In proof of its mechanical possibility Doctor
Plateau demonstrated, with whirling water, that it
was not a possibility, but a fact.  The nebular
hypothesis is more and more accepted as time goes on, by
all thinking men who have no personal reasons strong
enough to make them oppose it."  He clapped the
stunned Henry on the back.  "Trot out your refutations
and the marshal and I will knock them off their
pins!  Bring on your theologians, your special-creation
adherents, and we'll pulverize them under the
pestle of cold reason in the mortar of truth!  But I
never thought you were interested in such beautiful
abstractions, Henry; I never dreamed that inductive
and deductive reasoning, confined to purely scientific
questions appealed to you.  What needless loneliness
I have suffered; what opportunities I have missed;
what a dearth of intellectual exercise, and all because
I took for granted that no one in this town was
competent to discuss either side of such subjects.  But he's
got you with Laplace, Henry; got you hard and fast,
if you hold to the tenets of special creation.  Now that
there are two of us against you, I'll warrant you a
rough passage, my friend.  'Come, let's e'en at
it!'  We'll give you the floor, Henry--and here's where I
really enjoy myself for the first time in three weary,
dreary years.  We'll rout your generalities with
specific facts; we'll refute your ambiguities with
precisions; we'll destroy your mythological
conceptions with rational conceptions; your symbolical
conceptions with actual conceptions; your foundation of
faith by showing the genesis of that faith--couch
your lance, but look to yourself, for you see before
your ill-sorted array a Roman legion--short swords
and a flexible line.  Its centurions are geology, physics,
chemistry, biology, astronomy, and mathematics.
Nothing taken for granted there!  No pious hopes,
but solid facts, proved and re-proved.  Come on,
Henry--proceed to your Waterloo!  Special creation
indeed!  Comparative anatomy, single-handed, will
prove it false!"

"My G--d!" muttered Henry, forgetting his mission
entirely.  His head whirled, his feet were slipping
so rapidly that he did not know where he was going.
He stared, open-mouthed at Doctor Horn, dumbly at
the marshal, got up, sat down, and then slumped back
against his chair, helpless, hopeless, fearing the worst.
Over his head hurled words he thought to be foreign,
as his companions, having annihilated him, were
performing evolutions and exercises of their verbal arms
for the sheer joy of it.  Finally, despairing of the
lecture ever ending, he arose to escape, but was pushed
back again by the excited, exultant doctor.  Daylight
faded, twilight passed, and it was not until darkness
descended that the doctor, finding no opposition, but
hearty accord instead, tired of the sound of his own
voice and that of the marshal, and after profuse
expressions of friendship and pleasure, departed, his
head high, his shoulders squared, and his tread firm
and militant.

Henry's sigh of relief sounded like the exhaust of
an engine and he shifted again on the chair and tried
to collect his scattered senses.  Before he could get
started the marshal sent him off on a new track, and
his unspoken queries remained unspoken for another
period.

"Seen Miss Saunders yet?" asked Tex, struggling
hard to conceal his laughter.

Henry shook his head.  "No; but I ain't goin' to
wait much longer.  I don't see no signs of her weakenin',
an' that C Bar puncher is gittin' too cussed common
around her house.  For a peso I'd toss him in th'
discard.  I reckon yore way ain't no good with her,
Marshal.  I got to do somethin'--got to get some
action."

"I know about how you feel," sympathized Tex.
"I know how hard it is to set quiet an' wait in a thing
like this, Hennery, even if action does lose th' game.
Who was it you aimed to have perform th' ceremony?"

"Oh, there's a pilot down to Willow--one of them
roamin' preachers that reckons he's found a place
where he can stick.  He'll come up here if th' pay's
big enough, an' if I want any preacher.  He'll only
have to stay over one night to git a train back ag'in.
Anyhow, if we has to wait a day or two it won't make
much difference, as long as we're goin' to git hitched
afterward."

Tex closed his eyes and waited to get a good hold
on himself before replying.  "He'll come for Gus, all
right," he said.  "Think you can hold out a few days
more--just to see if my way will work?  It'll be
better, all around, if you do.  Where was you aimin' to
buy them presents for her?"

"Kansas City or St. Louie--reckon St. Louie will
be better.  Gus gets most of his supplies from there.
You still thinkin' stockin's is th' proper idea?"

Tex cogitated a moment.  "No; they're a little
embarrassin': better try gloves.  I'll find out th' size
from her brother.  Nice, long white gloves for th'
weddin'--an' mebby a nice shawl to go with
'em--Cashmere, with a long fringe.  They're better than
stockin's.  You send for 'em an' wait till they come
before you go around.  You shouldn't go empty-handed
on a visit like that.  An' you want th' minister
with you when you go after her--you can leave him
outside till he's needed.  Folks'll talk, an' make trouble
for you later.  There's tight rules for weddin's; very
tight rules.  You don't want nobody pokin' their fingers
at yore wife, Hennery.  It'll shore mean a killin',
some day."

"I ain't so cussed anxious to git married," growled
Henry.  "It's hard to git loose ag'in--but I reckon
mebby I better go through with it."

"I--reckon--you--had," whispered Tex, his
vision clouding for a moment.  He grew strangely
quiet, as though he had been mesmerized.

"A man can allus light out if he gits tired of it,"
reflected Henry complacently.

The marshal arose and paced up and down, thankful
for the darkness, which hid the look of murder
graven on his face.  "Yes," he acquiesced; "a
man--allus--can--do--that."  This conversation was
torturing him.  Anything would be a relief, and he threw
away the results of all his former talking.  "What
was on yore mind when you come down to see me
today?"

"Oh!" exclaimed his companion a little nervously.
"I plumb forgot all about it.  You see," he hesitated,
shifting again on the chair, "well, it's like this.  Us
boys admires th' way you handled things in th' hotel
this afternoon, but somebody might 'a' been killed.
'Tain't fair to let a passel of Irish run this town--an'
they started th' fight, anyhow.  Th' big Mick kicked
Jordan's gun out of his hand an' jumped on him.
Then th' others piled in, an' th' show begun.  We sort
of been thinkin' that th' marshal ought to back up his
town ag'in' them foreigners.  Gus is mad about
it--an' he's bad when he gits his back up.  He thinks
we ought to go down to th' railroad an' run them
Micks out of town on some sharp rails, beatin' 'em up
first so they won't come back.  Th' boys kinda cotton
to that idea.  They're gettin' restless an' hard to hold.
I thought I'd find out what side yo're on."

Tex stopped his pacing, alert as a panther.  "I
ain't on no side but law an' order," he slowly replied.
"I told that section-gang to stay on th' right-of-way.
They're leavin' town early tomorrow mornin', an'
may not come back.  A mob's a bad thing, Hennery:
there's no tellin' where it'll stop.  Most of 'em will be
full of likker, an' a drunken mob likes bright fires.
Let 'em fire one shack an' th' whole town will go:
hotel, Mecca, an' all.  It's yore best play to hold 'em
down, or you an' yore uncle will shore lose a lot of
money.  Th' right-of-way is th' dead line: I'll hold it
ag'in' either side as long as I can pull a trigger.  You
hold 'em back, Hennery; an' if you can't, don't you
get out in th' front line--stay well behind!"

"Mob's do get excited," conceded Henry, thoughtfully.
"Reckon I'll go see what Gus thinks about it.
See you later."

Tex watched him walk away, silhouetted against
the faintly illuminated store windows, and as the door
slammed behind him the marshal shifted his heavy
belts and went slowly up the street and into the hotel,
where he received a cold welcome.  Seeing that the
room was fairly well crowded, accounting for most of
the men in town and all of the afternoon crowd, he sat
in a corner from where he could see both doors and
everything going on.

In a few minutes Gus Williams and Henry entered
and began mixing with the crowd, which steadily
grew more quiet, but more sullen, like some wild beast
held back from its prey.  Henry sat at one table,
surrounded by his closest friends, while his uncle held
court at another.  The nephew was drinking steadily
and his glances at the quiet marshal became more
and more suspicious.  Around midnight, the temper
of the crowd suiting him, Tex arose and went down
the street toward his office, passed around it and
circled back over the uneven plain, silently reaching the
railroad near the box car.

Murphy quietly crept out of his bunk, gun in hand,
and slipped to the door, pressing his ear against it.
Again the drumming of the fingers sounded, but after
what had occurred earlier in the day he wanted more
than a tapping before he opened the door or betrayed
his presence in the car.  Soon he heard his name
softly called and recognized the voice.  As quietly as
he could, he slid back the door and peered into the
caller's face from behind a leveled gun.

"Don't let that go off," chuckled Tex, stepping
inside.  "Close th' door, Tim."

Murphy obeyed and felt his way to his visitor and
they held a conversation which lasted for an hour.
Tex's plans of action in certain contingencies were
more than acceptable to the section-boss and he went
over them until he was letter-perfect.  To every
question he gave an answer pleasing to the marshal and
when the latter left to go up and guard the toolshed
and its inmates he felt more genuine relief than he
had known since he had become actively engaged in
the town's activities.  Things were rapidly approaching
a crisis and the knowledge had filled him with
dread; now let it come--he was ready to meet it.

Silently he chose a position against the railroad
embankment close to the toolshed and here he
remained until dawn.  Murphy and Costigan passed him
in the darkness on a nearly silent hand car, going
west, but did not see him; and he did not know that
they had returned until the sky paled.  For some time
he had heard a bustling in the building, and just as he
was ready to leave he saw the section-gang roll out
their own hand car and go rumbling up the line
toward Scrub Oak.





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.. _`PLANS AWRY`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XX


.. class:: center medium bold

   PLANS AWRY

.. vspace:: 2

For the next few days a tense equilibrium was
maintained in the town, the marshal, grim, alert,
and practically ostracized by nine-tenths of the
population.  He could feel the veiled hostility whenever
he went up and down the street, and silence fell
abruptly on groups of men conversing here and there
whenever he was seen approaching.  Hostile glances,
sullen faces, shrugging shoulders greeted him on
every side, and he felt more relieved than ever when
he reviewed his arrangements with the section-boss.

Henry Williams was growing openly suspicious of
him, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the presents
from St. Louis, which he had ordered through Jerry's
telegraph key, and he was drinking more and more
and keeping more and more to himself, his only
company being two men whom Tex had been watching
since the death of Bud Haines.  The marshal felt that
with the coming of the presents trouble would begin,
and he had asked Jerry to keep a watch for them, and
let him know the moment they arrived.  Fate tricked
him here, for when they did come they were packed
in a large consignment of goods for Gus Williams,
and since he regularly was receiving shipments there
was nothing to indicate to the station agent that
Henry's gifts had passed through his hands.

Henry's suspicions of the marshal were cumulative
rather than sudden.  Never very confident about what
Tex really thought and what he might do, certain
vague memories of looks and of ambiguous words and
actions recurred to the nephew.  He was beginning
to believe that the marshal would shoot him down
like a dog if he pressed the issue as he intended to
press it in regard to Jane Saunders, and he was
determined that Tex should have no opportunity to go to
her defense.  Several methods of eliminating the
disturbing marshal presented themselves to the
coyote-cunning mind of the would-be lover.  He could be
shot from cover as he moved about in his flimsy office,
or as he slept.  He could walk into a rifle bullet as he
opened his door some morning, or he could be decoyed
up to Blascom's while Henry's plans went through.
This last would taste sweeter in the public mouth
than a coldly planned murder, but on the other hand
the return of the marshal might end in cyclonic action.
There was no doubt about Tex's feelings in regard to
killing when he felt it to be necessary or justified.  He
would kill with no more compunction than a wolf
would show.  Then from the mutterings of rebellion
and the sullen looks of discontent among the hotel
habitues a plan leaped into the nephew's mind.  It
solved every objectionable feature of the other
schemes; and Henry forthwith went to work.

The nephew was no occult mystery to a man like
the marshal, who almost could see the mental wheels
turning in any man like him.  Tex was preparing for
eventualities and part of the preparation was the
buying of a pint flask of whiskey from Carney--a bottle
locally regarded as pocket-size.  When night fell he
emptied into the liquor a carefully computed amount
of chloral hydrate, recorked it, shook it well, and
placed it among sundry odds and ends in a corner of
the office, where it would be overlooked by any thirsty
caller, whose glance was certain to notice the
bottle of whiskey in plain sight on a shelf.  Against
the consciousness of sixteen men that innocent-looking
flask would tip the scales to its own side with
an emphasis; and the marshal not only knew the
proper dose for horses but also how to shove it down
their throats with practiced ease and swiftness.  Buck
Peters had paid him no mean compliment when he
had said that Tex could dose a horse more expertly
than any man he ever had known.  Having put all of
his weapons in order he marked time, awaiting the
pleasure of the enemy.

He did not have long to wait.  To be specific he
waited two days more, which interval brought time
around to the last day on the calendar for that month,
the day which railroad regulations proclaimed to be
the occasion for making out sundry and numerous
reports, a job that kept many a station agent writing
and figuring most of the night.  Having sense and
imagination, the agent at Windsor did what he could
of this work from day to day and as a consequence
saved himself from a long, high-tension job at the
last minute; but he did not have imagination enough
to know that a packing-case of formidable dimensions
which he had received that noon from the west-bound
train and later saw hauled to the Mecca, held the
watched-for gifts that Henry Williams would eagerly
present to Jane.

Contemptuous of any interference that Jerry might
make in a physical sense, Henry nevertheless
preferred to have him absent when he made his
determined attempt.  The brother doubtless would have
great influence on Jane by his protests, and that would
necessitate drastic measures which only would make
the matter worse.  If Jerry were detained by force,
injured, or killed to keep him from the house it would
cause a great deal of unpleasantness, from a domestic
standpoint, to run through the years to come.  There
was only one night a month when the agent remained
away from his house for any length of time, and this
must be the night for the action to be carried through.

The mob was being slowly, but surely, inflamed by
the nephew and his two friends, its anger directed
against Murphy and Costigan since the section-gang
had not returned to town.  The section-boss and his
friend came in every night while they worked along
Buffalo Creek, and were careful not to give any
excuse for a hostile demonstration against them.  They
were even less conspicuous because they walked in
instead of rolling home on the hand car.  But on this
last night of the month the whole crew, rebelliously
disobeying orders, came in on their crowded hand car,
much to Henry's poorly concealed delight, and to
Tex's rage.  Murphy had promised otherwise.

Here was oil for the flames Henry had set burning!
Here was success with a capital letter!  The mob now
would surely attack, divert Jerry's attention, and
perhaps rid the town of its official nuisance.  He would
act on the marshal's kindly warning, for he would not
be in the front rank of the mob; in fact, he would not
be with the mob at all.  He had other work to do.

The sudden look of joyous expectation, so poorly
disguised, on Henry's face acted on Tex like the
warning whirr of an angry rattlesnake and he quietly
cleaned and oiled his guns, broke out a fresh box of
cartridges, and dumped them into his right-hand
pocket.  The remaining chloral-filled shells he slipped
in the pocket of his chaps.  Shaking up the flask of
whiskey to make certain of the crystals being
dissolved and the drug evenly distributed throughout the
fluid, he hid it again and, seating himself in his
favorite place, awaited the opening number.

Darkness had just closed down when Tommy loped
in from the ranch and stopped to say a few careless,
friendly words, but he never uttered them, for the
marshal's instructions were snapping forth before the
C Bar rider could open his mouth.

"This is no time for pleasantries!" said Tex in a
voice low and tense.  "Turn around, ride back a way,
circle around th' town an' leave yore cayuse a couple
of hundred yards from Murphy's box car.  Tell him
trouble's brewin' an' to look sharp.  Then you head
for her house, actin' as cautious, an' go up to it on
foot, an' as secretly as you know how.  Lay low,
outside.  Don't show yourself at all--a man in th' dark
will be worth five in th' light tonight.  Stay there no
matter what you hear in town.  If she should see you,
on yore life don't let her think there's any danger--on
yore life, Tommy!  Mebby there ain't, but there's
no tellin' what drunken beast will remember that
there's a woman close at hand.  You stay there till
daylight, or till I relieve you.  Get-a-goin'--an' good
luck!"

Tommy carried out his orders, gave Murphy the
warning, and was gone again before the big Irishman,
seething with rage at his crew's disobedience, could
say more than a few words.  Murphy had been forced
to construct a plan of his own, and he wished to get
word of it to the marshal's ears.  Tommy having left
so quickly, he could not send it.  Convincing himself
that it was not really necessary for the marshal to be
told of it, and savagely pleased by the surprise in store
for him and every man in town, the section-boss went
ahead on his own initiative.  Going to the toolshed
he went in, frowning at the thoroughly cowed and
humbled crew, blew out the lamps and with hearty
curses ordered the gang to put their car on the rails
and to start east for the next town.

"Roll her softly, by hand, till ye get out av th'
hearin' av this hell-town, an' then board her, an' put
yore weight on th' handles," he commanded.  "An'
don't ye come back till I send for ye.  Costigan an' me
are plannin' work for ourselves an' will not go with
ye.  Lively, now--an' no back talk.  A lot depends
on yer doin' as yer told.  One more order disobeyed
an' I'll brain th' pack av ye with a crowbar.  Ye've
raised h--l enough this night.  Now git out av here,
an' mind what I've told ye!"

The orders quickly obeyed and the car quietly
placed on the rails, the gang went into the night as
silently as bootless feet would take them, pushing the
well-greased car ahead of them, and as gently as
though it were loaded with nitro-glycerin.  When
far enough away not to be heard by anyone in town,
they put on their boots, climbed aboard, and sent
their conveyance along at an ordinary rate of speed.
They hated to desert their two countrymen, and began
to talk about it.  Finally they made up their minds
that Murphy's orders, in view of their recent
disobedience, were to be followed, and with hearty accord
they sent the car rolling on again, the greater part
of the grades in their favor, toward the next town.
The distance was nothing to become excited about
with six husky men at the handles to pump off the
miles.

Up at the station a single light burned in the little
office where Jerry worked at his reports.  Outside
the building in the darkness Murphy lay on his
stomach in a tuft of weeds, a rifle in his hand, and a Colt
beside him on the ground.  Within easy reach of his
right hand lay a coatful of rocks culled from the
road-bed, no mean weapons against figures silhouetted by
the lamp-lighted windows of the buildings facing the
right-of-way; and close to them were half a dozen
dynamite cartridges, their wicked black fuses capped
and inserted.  Tim Murphy, like Napoleon, put his
trust in heavy artillery.

Costigan was nowhere to be seen.  Down the track
lights shone under the cracks of the doors of the
toolshed and the box-car habitation of the section-boss,
and one curtained window of Costigan's rented
cottage glowed dully against the night.  Crickets shrilled
and locusts fiddled, and there were no signs of
impending danger.

In the hotel the tables were filled with lowly
conversing miners in groups, each man leaning far
forward, elbows on the table, his shoulders nearly
touching those on either side.  Gus Williams and his closest
friends had pulled two tables together and made a
group larger than the others.  Henry and his two now
inseparable companions were at a table near the back
door, talking earnestly with Jake, who by this time
had recovered from his recent sickness.  The Buffalo
Creek miner was quieter and more thoughtful than
he had been before Blascom had nearly killed him,
and his mind for several days had been the battle
ground of a fiercely fought struggle between contending
emotions, which still raged, but in a lesser
intensity.  He listened without comment to what was being
said to him, swayed first one way and then another.
His last glass of liquor was untasted, which was
something of no moment to Henry's whiskey-dulled mind.
Finally Jake nodded, tossed off the drink with a
gesture of quick determination, hitched up his cartridge
belt and, forgetting his sombrero on the floor, arose
and slipped quietly out of the door.  As he left,
another man, peremptorily waved into the vacated
chair, also listened to instructions and also slipped
out through the rear door.  He set his course toward
the right-of-way, whereas Jake had gone in the other
direction, toward Carney's saloon and the marshal's
office.

The last man stopped when even with the line of
shacks facing the railroad, noted the dully glowing
shade in Costigan's house, the yellow strips of light
around the rough board shutters of the box car, and
the broader yellow band under the toolshed door.
Satisfied by his inspection he slipped back the way he
had come and made his report to Henry.

Jake crept with infinite caution toward the marshal's
office, but when nearly to it he paused as the
battle in his mind raged with a sudden burst of fury.
The marshal had humbled him in sight of his friends
and acquaintances and had boasted of worse to
follow if his victim forced the issue; the marshal had
saved his life in the little hut on the lower fork,
laboring all night with him.  Doctor Horn had said so,
and Blascom, playing nurse at the marshal's request,
had endorsed the doctor.

Ahead of him, plain to his sight, was the marshal's
side window, its flimsy curtain tightly drawn; and
silhouetted against it were the hatted head and the
shoulders of the man he had been sent to kill.  Again
he crept forward, the Colt gripped tightly in his right
hand.  Foot by foot he advanced, but stopping more
frequently to argue with himself.  A few yards more
and the mark could not be missed.  He, himself, was
safe from any answering fire.  A heavy curse rumbled
in his throat and he stopped again.  He fought fair, as
far as he knew the meaning of the term in its
generally accepted definition among men of his kind.  He
never had knifed or shot a man from behind, and he
was not going to do it now, especially a man who had
no reason to save his sotted life, but who had done so
without pausing.  Jake arose, jammed the gun back
into its holster and walked briskly to the door of the
flimsy little office, which he found locked against him.
He knocked and listened, but heard nothing.  Again
he knocked and listened and still there was no answer.

"Marshal!" he called in a rasping, loud whisper.
"Marshal!  Git away from that d--d window: th'
next man won't be one that owes you for his life.
I'm goin' back to Buffaler Crick.  Look out for
yoreself!" and he made good his words, striding off into
the dark.

Back of the hotel, lying prone behind a pile of
bleached and warped lumber, the marshal watched the
rear door.  He saw Jake leave, recognizing the man
in the light of the opening door by certain peculiarities
of carriage and manner.  He smiled grimly when the
man turned toward the north, and he waited for the
sound of the shot which would drill the window, the
shade, and the old shirt hanging on the back of a
chair.  He wondered if the rolled-up blanket, fastened
to the broken broom handle, which made the head
and held Carney's old sombrero, would fall with the
impact.  Then the door opened again and the second
man hurried out, turning to the south.  He came back
shortly, left the door open behind him and with his
return Henry's voice rang out in an impassioned
harangue.  The hotel was coming to life.  The stamp
of heavy boots grew more continuous; loud voices
became louder and more numerous, and shouts arose
above the babel.  The protesting voice of Gus Williams
was heard less and less, finally drowned completely
in the vengeful roar.  Sudden noises in the street told
of angry men pouring out of the front door,
simultaneously with the exodus through the rear door.
Oaths, curses, threats, and explosive bursts of laughter
arose.  One leathern-lunged miner was drunkenly
singing at the top of his voice, to the air of *John Brown's
Body*, a paraphrase worded to suit the present situation.

The marshal leaped to his feet, secure against
discovery in the darkness, and sprinted on a parallel
course for an opening between the row of buildings
facing the right-of-way.  His sober-minded directness
and his lightness of foot let him easily outstrip the
more aimless, leisurely progress of the maudlin gang,
which preferred to hold to a common front instead of
stringing out.  Drunk as they were, they were sober
enough to realize, if only vaguely, that a two-gun
sharpshooter by all odds would be waiting for the
advance guard.  In fact, their enthusiasm was largely
imitation.  Henry's mind had not been keen enough
to take into consideration such a thing as anticlimax;
he had not realized that the psychological moment
had passed and that in the interval of the several days,
while the once white-hot iron of vengeful purpose
still was hot, it had cooled to a point where its heat
was hardly more than superficial.  The once deadly
purpose of the mob was gone, thanks to Gus
Williams' efforts, the ensuing arguments, and the
wholesome respect for the marshal's courage and the speed
and accuracy of his two guns.  Instead of a destroying
flood, contemptuous of all else but the destruction
of its victims, the mob had degenerated into a body
of devilish mischief-makers, terrible if aroused by the
taste of blood, but harmless and hesitant if the taste
were denied it.

Tex, sensing something of this feeling, darted
through the alleyway between the two buildings he
had in mind, dashed across the open space paralleling
the right-of-way, crossed the tracks, and slipped
behind the toolshed to be better hidden from sight.  Its
silence surprised him, but one glance through a knot
hole showed the lighted interior to be innocent of
inmates.  He forthwith sprinted to the box car and
a warped crack in one of the barn-door shutters told
him the same tale.  A sudden grin came to his face:
Murphy had done what he could to offset the return
of his section-gang.  He glanced at Costigan's house
and its one lighted curtain, and at that instant he
remembered that he had not noticed the gang's hand
car in the toolshed.  He brought the picture of its
interior to his mind again and grunted with satisfaction.
Its disappearance accounted for the disappearance
of the gang.

The mob would now become a burlesque, having
nothing upon which to act.  Chuckling over the
fiasco, he trotted toward the station to see that Jerry
got away before the crowd discovered its impotence
to commit murder as planned, and to stay on the west
side of the main street in case the baffled units of the
mob should head for Jerry's house.  There was no
longer any shouting or noise.  He knew that it meant
that the advance guard of rioters was cautiously
scouting and approaching the lighted buildings with
due regard to its own safety; and he reached the
station platform before he saw the sudden flare of
light on the ground before the toolshed which told of
its doors being yanked open.  Figures tumbled into the
lighted patch and then milled for a moment before
hurrying off to join their fellows on the way to attack
the other two buildings.

"That you, Tex?" said a low voice close to him.
"This is Murphy."

"Good!" exclaimed the marshal.  "You've beat
'em, Tim.  They're like dogs chasin' their tails; an'
from th' beginnin' they didn't sound very business-like.
But there's no tellin' what some of them may
do, so you go up an' join Costigan while I take a look
around Jerry's house.  Where is he?  His light's out."

"He went home when he heard th' yellin',"
answered Murphy, "to git th' lass out av th' house
an' to Costigan in case th' mob started that way.  'Tis
lucky for them they didn't, an' pass within throwin'
distance av me!  'Tis dynamite I'd 'a' fed 'em, with
proper short fuses.  Look out ye don't push that
lighted cigar too close to th' darlin's!"

Tex stepped back as though he had been stung.
"I'm half sorry they didn't give you a chance to use
th' stuff," he growled.  "Well, I reckon mobs will be
out of style in Windsor by mornin'.  This ain't no
wolf-pack, runnin' bare-fanged to a kill, but a bunch
of coyotes usin' coyote caution.  We'll let Costigan
stay where he is, just th' same.  You better join him
as soon as these fools go back to get drunker.  Th'
woman in this makes us play dead safe.  I'll head up
that way an' look things over.  If I hear a blast I'll
get back fast enough.  Don't forget to throw 'em
quick after you touch 'em to that cigar!"

"I'll count five an' let 'em go," chuckled Murphy.
"I got 'em figgered close."

"Too close for me!" rejoined the marshal, moving
off toward the Saunders' home.

"I'd like to stick one in Henry's pocket," said the
Irishman, growling.

"D--n me for a fool!" snapped Tex, leaping into
the darkness.





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.. _`AN EQUAL GUILT`:

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   CHAPTER XXI


.. class:: center medium bold

   AN EQUAL GUILT

.. vspace:: 2

Tommy Watkins, after delivering his
message to Tim Murphy, hastened to the Saunders'
home, where he carried out his orders, with but one
exception; but the exception nullified all his efforts
for a stealthy approach and a secret watch.  The best
cover he could find around the house was a little
building near the back door in which firewood,
kerosene, and odds and ends were kept.  Despite the
kindling and the darkness his entrance had been
noiseless and he was paying himself hearty compliments
upon the exploit when his head collided with a basket
of clothespins which hung from a peg in the wall, and
sent the basket and its contents clattering down on
the kerosene can and a tin pan.  He started back
involuntarily and his spurred heels struck the side of
a washtub which was nearly full of water, kept so
against drying out and falling apart.  Into this he sat
with a promptness and abandon which would have
filled the heart of any healthy small boy with ecstasies.
Bounding out of the tub, he fell over the pile of
kindling and from this instant his rage spared nothing
in his way.  Had he deliberately started out with the
firm intention of arousing that part of Kansas he
scarcely could have made a better job of it.  While
he cursed like a drunken sailor, and burned with rage
and shame, the door was suddenly flung open and
Jane, lamp in hand, stared at him in fright and
determination, over the trembling muzzle of a
short-barreled .38.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, the hand holding the gun
now pressing against her breast.  "Oh!" she repeated,
and the lamp wobbled so that she tremblingly blew it
out.  For some moments she struggled to get back to
normal, Tommy thankful that the lamp no longer
revealed him in his present water-soaked condition.  He
felt that his flaming face would give light enough
without any further aid.

He sidled out of the door, tongue-tied, crestfallen,
miserable, and placed his back against the shed,
intending to slip along it, and dash around the corner
into the kindly oblivion of the black night.

"Wait!" she begged, sensing his intention.  "Oh,
my; how you frightened me!  Whatever made you
get into this shed, anyway?  What were you trying
to do?"

Here it was, right in his teeth.  Tex fairly had
hammered into him the warning not to frighten her--on
his life he was to keep from her any thought of
danger if she should see him.  She had seen him, all
right.  She had seen entirely too much of him--and
he was not to frighten her!  Holy Moses!  He was
not to frighten her!  He resolved that plenty of time
should elapse before he allowed Tex Jones to see him.
Not to frighten her--it was a wonder she had not
died of fright.

"What on earth ever made you go in there?" she
demanded, a little acerbity in her voice.

"Why, ma'am, I was hidin' from you," said the
culprit.  "Let me light th' lamp, ma'am, an' straighten
things out in there.  Everythin' slid that wasn't nailed
fast.  That tub, now: was you savin' th' water for
anythin', ma'am?  If you was I plumb spoiled it."

"No; it was only to keep the staves swelled tight--for
heaven's sake, do you mean that you fell in it?"  She
reached out and grasped his coat, and suddenly
collapsed against the building, shrieking with
laughter.  When she could speak she ordered him to feel
for and pick up the lamp, and to lead the way into
the house.  "Go right into Jerry's room and change
your clothes--I hope you can get his things on.  But
whatever made you go in there, anyway?  What was it?"

"Like I done said, ma'am," he reiterated, flushing
in the dark.  "I was goin' to play a joke on Jerry
when he came home--but I didn't aim to do no
damage, ma'am, or scare you!" he earnestly assured her.

"Oh, but you were willing to scare Jerry!" she
retorted.

"I don't reckon he'd 'a' been scared," he mumbled.
"Here's th' lamp, ma'am, on th' step; I'll see Jerry
at th' station.  I'm fadin', now," and before she could
utter a protest he had put down the lamp and
disappeared around the house.  But he did not go far.  Wet
clothes meant nothing to him, nothing at all in his
present state of mind, and he intended to stay, and to
keep his watch faithfully.  And it was to his present
flurried state of mind that he owed his more serious
misadventure of the night, for he blundered around
the second corner squarely into two figures hugging
the wall and a descending gun butt filled his mental
firmament with stars.  He sagged to the ground
without even a sigh and was quickly disarmed and
bound.  A soiled handkerchief was forced into his
mouth and he was rolled against the wall, where he
would be out of the way.

One of the two hirelings nudged the other as they
stood up, putting his mouth close to his companions
ear.  "Hey, Ike!" he whispered.  "This fool is wet as
a drownded pup--wears a gun an' cowpunch clothes.
He ain't the agent!"

"H--l, no!" responded Ike; "but he meant us no
good, bein' here.  We'll git th' agent, too.  He'll be
comin' soon, an' fast.  Git over by th' path he uses."

Jane, somewhat vexed, had picked up the lamp and
entered the house.  The constantly repeated "ma'am"
and the stammering explanations, which she put but
little stock in, made her suddenly contrast this big,
overgrown boy with a man she knew, and to Tommy's
vast discredit.  She had hit it: one was no more than
an overgrown boy, coarse, unlearned, clumsy,
embarrassed; the other, a grown man, cool, educated,
masterful, unabashed.  One was in his own way; the
other, unobtrusive in manner but persistently haunting
in his personality.  She might not be able for good
reasons to see Tex Jones in a room filled with people,
but she could not fail to sense his presence.  But the
marshal was no longer to be thought of; he had taken
a human life and was forever beyond the pale of her
interest and affections.  He had blood on his hands.

Suddenly she started and cast an apprehensive
glance toward the window which faced the town.  A
low, chaotic roaring, indistinct in its blurred entirety,
but fear impelling because of its timbre, came from
the main street.  A shot or two sounded flatly and
the roaring rose and fell in queer, spasmodic bursts.
Before she could move, a knock sounded on the door
and, fearing bad news about her brother, she took a
tight grip on herself and walked swiftly toward the
summons, flinging the door wide open.

Henry Williams, a smirk on his face, bowed and
entered, not waiting for an invitation.  He forgot to
remove his hat in his eagerness to place his packages
on the table where she plainly could see them.
Selecting the easiest chair, he seated himself on the
edge of it, and tossed his sombrero against the wall.

"Nice evenin', ma'am," he said, flushing a little.
"I was hopin' for more rain but don't reckon we'll
git none for a spell.  What we had has helped
wonderful.  You an' Jerry feelin' well?"

"It doesn't feel like rain, Mr. Williams," she
replied, torn between fear and mirth at the presence of
this unwelcome visitor.  "Both my brother and
myself are as well as we can expect to be.  If you'll go
to the station you'll find him there--this is report
night and he may not be home until quite late."

"I ain't waitin' for Jerry," explained Henry, leering.
"It's just as well if he is a little late.  My call is
shore personal, ma'am; personal between me an' you."

She was staring at him through eyes which were
beginning to sparkle with vexation.  She was now
beginning to accept her first, intuitive warning.

"I am not aware that there is anything of a
personal nature which concerns us both," she rejoined.
"I believe you must be mistaken, Mr. Williams.  If
you will close the door behind you on your way out
I will be duly grateful.  Jerry is at the station."  She
stepped back to let him pass, but he ignored the hints.

There came an increase in the roaring from the
direction of town and she started, casting an inquiring
and appealing glance at her visitor.

"Th' boys are a little wild tonight," he said, smiling
evilly.  "They've got so much dust that they're bustin'
loose to paint th' old town proper.  There ain't nothin'
to be scared about."

"But Jerry: my brother!" she exclaimed fearfully.
"He's alone in the office!"

"No, he ain't ma'am," replied Henry with an air
meant to reassure her.  "I got four good boys,
deputized by th' marshal, watchin' th' station in case some
fool gets notions.  Jones, hisself, is settin' on a bench
outside, an' you know what *that* means.  I allus look
after my friends, ma'am."  He smiled again.
"'Specially them that are goin' to be real close to me.
That's why I'm here--to look after you now--now,
an' all th' time, now an' forever.  Just see what I
brought you--sent all th' way to St. Louie for 'em,
an' shore got th' very best there was.  Why," he
chuckled, going to the table, and so engrossed in his
packages that he did not see the look of revulsion on
her face, a look rapidly turning to a burning shame
and anger.

"These here gloves, now--they cost me six dollars.
An' lookit this Cashmere shawl--you'd think
I was lyin' if I told you what that cost.  I told th' boys
you'd show 'em off handsome an' proper.  Put 'em
on and let's see how they look on you."  He held the
gifts out, looking up at her, surprised by her silence,
her lack of pleased exclamations, and paused,
dumbfounded at her expression.

Mortification yielded place to shame and fear;
shame and fear to anger with only a trace of fear,
and then rage swept all else before it.  The colors
playing in her cheeks fled and left them white, her
lips were thin as knife blades and her eyes blazed like
crucibles of molten metal.  She struck wildly at the
presents, sending them across the room and raised
her hand to strike him.  Never in all her life had she
been so furious.

"Why--what's th' matter?" he asked, not believing
his senses.  He put out a hand to pacify her.  It
touched her arm and turned her into a fury, her nails
scoring it deeply as she struck it away.

"What's th' matter with you?" he demanded angrily,
looking up from his bleeding hand.  "Oh!" he
sneered, his face working with anger.  "That's it,
huh?  All right, d--n you!  I'll cussed soon show you
who's boss!" he gritted, moving slowly forward.  "If
you won't come willin'ly, you'll come unwillin'ly!
Puttin' on airs like you was too good for me, huh?
I'll bust yore spirit like you was a hoss!"

She flung a quivering arm toward the door, but he
pressed forward and backed her into a corner, from
where she struck at him again and again, and then
felt his arms about her as he wrestled with her.  Her
strength amazed him and he broke loose to get a
more punishing hold.  "Ike!" he shouted.  "George!
Hurry up: she's worse'n a wildcat!"

Ike's head popped in through a window, George
dashing through the door, and with them at his side Henry
leaped for her.  She clutched at her breast and crouched,
as savage and desperate as any animal of the wild.  He
shouted something as he closed with her and then there
came a muffled roar, a flash, and a cloud of smoke
spurted from between them.  Henry, his glazing eyes
fixing their look of fear, amazement, and chagrin, spun
around against his companions, his clutching hands
dragging down their arms, and slid between them.  For him
the mob had been incited in vain.

His two friends, stupefied for an instant, gazed
unbelievingly from Jane to Henry and back again, vaguely
noticing that her horror and revulsion were unnerving
her and that the short-barreled Colt in her hand was
wobbling in ever-widening circles.  Ike recovered his
self-possession first and, reaching out swiftly, knocked
the wavering weapon from her hand.  Shouting savagely
he leaped for her as a streak of flame stabbed in through
the window he had entered by, the deafening roar filling
the room.  He stiffened convulsively, whirled halfway
around and pitched headlong under the table, dead before
he touched the floor.  His companion's arms jerked
upward with spasmodic speed.

"Keep 'em there!  Sit down, Miss Saunders," came an
even, unflurried voice from the window as the marshal,
hatless and coatless, hoping that George would draw,
crawled into the house behind a steady gun.  "Good
Lord!" he muttered, glancing over the room, his eyes
passing the fallen .38 without betraying any recognition.
"Steady!" he cried as Jane's knees buckled and she slid
down the wall.  "Keep 'em up!" he snarled at George
as he swiftly disarmed him.  "Face th' door!"  As the
frightened man obeyed, the marshal stepped quickly to a
shelf on which stood a bottle of brandy and some glasses.
He changed the gun to his left hand, snatched a cartridge
from his chaps' pocket and, yanking out the lead with his
teeth, emptied the shell into a glass.  Quickly filling this
and another he wheeled and thrust one out at the rigid
prisoner.  "Drink this," he ordered.  "You shore need
it; an' if you don't I'll blow you apart."  George's stare
of amazed incredulity changed to one of hope and relief
and he downed the drink at a gulp.  Tex slipped a pair
of handcuffs over his wrists and ordered him to sit
down.  "Sit down in that big chair, an' close yore eyes.
I got somethin' for you to do--relax!"

As he bent over Jane she stirred, opened her eyes,
glanced at him, and then fixed them on the men on the
floor, shuddering and shrinking from the sight; but she
could not look away.  "I killed him!  I killed him!"
she sobbed hysterically, over and over again.

"Drink this," ordered the marshal, forcing the glass
between her lips.  He nodded with quiet satisfaction.
"Shore," he replied in an assumed matter-of-fact voice,
as though it were an everyday occurrence.  "Good job,
too.  I should have done it, myself, days ago."  He held
up the glass again.  "Can you drink a little more of
this, Miss Saunders?  There are times when a little
brandy is very useful."  His low, even, unemotional tones
were almost caressing, and she thankfully put herself in
his capable hands.  Slowly growing calmer she began to
see things with a less blurred vision and the slow
slumping of the sleepy man in the chair took her wondering
attention.

"Why, is he--killed--too?" she asked shuddering.

"Oh, no; he's only half asleep," replied Tex, smiling.
"Three more minutes an' he'll be sound asleep, for a
dozen hours or more.  Brandy has an hypnotic effect on
some people, Miss Saunders, while it stimulates others.
Will you please collect a small valise of your most
valuable and indispensable possessions, all the money in
the house, a good wrap of some kind, and allow me to
escort you to Murphy and Costigan?  You are leaving
town, you know, never to return."

"But I've killed a man, and you are an officer of the
law!  Do you mean--" she paused unbelievingly.

"You shot a mad skunk in plain self-defense," he
replied.  "He has powerful friends and influence to avenge
him.  The jury would be packed and justice scorned.  I'm
marshal no longer, Miss Saunders.  I accepted the
appointment on the definite understanding that I would be
marshal only as long as I could.  The term has automatically
come to an end.  So far as this town is concerned
I'm a rabid outlaw."  He tore the badge from his vest
and threw it on the table.  "Ah!  George is sleeping more
soundly than he ever slept before.  There's no need of
gagging him, for he'll give no alarm.  Please fill that
satchel, Miss Saunders--time presses."

"You are a good friend, Mr. Jones; and I have
wronged you," she said, her words barely audible.  "My
hands are as bloody as yours--and I scorned you for
taking life!  Take me away from here--please--please!"

"As fast as I can," replied Tex, soothingly.  "You
help me by filling a satchel and getting your wrap.  Put
your mind on your possessions, please; think what you
wish to take with you, and then get them.  Money?
Jewels?  Miscellaneous valuables, intrinsic or sentimental?
Documents?  Apparel?  Please--you must aid me all
you can if I'm to aid you.  We have no time to lose!"

"But my brother--he is safe?"

"Waiting outside, tied, and gagged.  I couldn't stop
to free him," Tex answered.  "Watkins, likewise.  They
laid their plans well, but the mob was a misfire and didn't
keep me as busy as they counted on.  Will you obey me,
Miss Saunders, or must we leave bare-handed?  I'll give
you just three minutes by that clock--then we go."

A pious, shocked exclamation came from the window
where Murphy stared suddenly into a magic gun before
he was recognized.  "Holy Mother!" he whispered, and
then: "I found Tommy--where is Jerry?"

"Don't you ever do that again!" snapped Tex, a little
white showing in his face.  "I don't know how I kept
th' hammer up!  You look around by that clump of scrub
oak, where the path goes around the big bowlder.  I nearly
fell over him.  Take them both with you--we'll follow
close.  Any signs of anyone coming from town?"

"Not yet--but ye needn't stay here all night!  Hurry,
miss, or there'll be a slaughter that'll shake this country!"

As Jane obeyed, Tex walked over, drew up one of
George's eyelids and smiled grimly.  Then he placed a
hand on each of the figures on the floor and nodded, a
sneer flickering over his face.  In a moment Jane, still
a little unsteady, returned and found the ex-marshal
pinning the nickeled badge on the lapel of Henry's coat, and
while it meant nothing to her then in her agitated state
of mind its significance came to her later.  When that
badge was found she would be freed of blame for
Henry's death.  Opening the door Tex blew out the light and
led the way.  They hurried over the uneven, hard ground
and soon reached the railroad, where a hand car, with
Murphy, Costigan, and Tommy at the handles, waited to
run them over a trail where no tracks would tell any tales.

"Head for Scrub Oak, an' stop outside th' town till
Jerry's party gets away," ordered Tex.  "Th' grades are
mostly against you an' all of you came from th' east,
where Mike's family went.  They'll figger you went th'
same way, if they think of th' hand car at all.  It ain't
likely they will, because I'm aimin' to give them
something plain to read, when they're *able* to read it.  Got
money?  Got enough to buy three good cayuses with
saddles, grub, an' everythin' you need?  Good!  Tommy,
when you get to town, go in alone, get three outfits, an'
take Miss Saunders an' Jerry to Gunsight as fast as they
can travel.  When you get there, ask for Nelson, an' tell
him Tex Ewalt says to hold off h--l an' high water
before givin' up these two.  I'll join you there as soon as I
can.  Here, listen close," and he gave a description of
Gunsight's location sufficient for a rider of the plains.
"Off with you, now--let her roll gently near Buffalo
Crick--she'll rumble deep crossin' that bridge an' Jake
may be at home.  So-long--get a-goin'!"

"But you?" cried Jane.  "Where are you going?
Surely not back into that town!"  The distress and
anxiety brought a smile to the ex-marshal's lips.  "You
must come with us!  You must!  You must!" she insisted
almost hysterically.  "You can't fight the whole town!"

"I'm bettin' he can," growled Murphy.  "Here, Tex!
Better take a couple av these little firecrackers!  Count
five an' let 'em go; but *you* better count sorta fast."

"No, thanks, Tim," laughed Tex.  "I can't go with
you, Miss Saunders.  I've got a pack of coyotes to make
fools of--see you at th' SV in four or five days.  Don't
you worry--it was clean self-defense.  He brought it on
himself.  All right, Tim: get a-goin'!"

He listened to the sounds of the cautiously propelled
car, the clicks of the rail joints growing softer and softer.
When they had died out, he walked swiftly back to the
house, where he got his hat and coat and then went on
to town.  Going to where the roan patiently waited for
him he led it to John Graves' stable and reconnoitered
the building.  John was not at home on this night of
excitement.

Tex forced the door, and quietly saddled the sorrel
and the gray, threw a sack of corn across the latter and,
leading them forth, led the three animals back of a
deserted building and then went toward the hotel.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE FALSE TRAIL AND THE TRUE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXII


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE FALSE TRAIL AND THE TRUE

.. vspace:: 2

The maudlin crowd was ugly and did not accept
the marshal's appearance with any enthusiasm.
While he had not opposed them he had warned and sent
away their hoped-for victims.  Frank scowls met him
wherever he looked.  He stopped at the table where Gus
Williams and a dozen cronies, the bolder men of the
town, were drinking and arguing.

"Blascom's cussed sick," he announced.  "Sick as a
dog.  I rode out to spend th' night with him, knowin'
that when that coyote section-boss sent his pack out of
town there wouldn't be no reason for me to stay here
an' make myself unpopular.  I got a good job in this
town, an' I've got a right to have friends here.  Anyhow,
I told Murphy that if his men came back they'd have to
do their own fightin'.  Reckon that's why he sent 'em
along.  Him an' Costigan follered 'em on th' other hand
car."  He glanced over the room.  "Where's Hennery?"
he asked.  "I heard he wanted to see me."

Williams roused himself and looked up through bloodshot
eyes.  "Th' fool's gone courtin', I reckon; an' on a
night like this, when I needed him.  Don't know when
he'll git back.  He mus' be enjoyin' hisself, anyhow."

John Graves chuckled and endorsed the sentiment.

Tex nodded.  "I reckon mebby he is, his star bein'
bright tonight.  Much excitement in town after I left?
Station agent make any trouble?"

"A lot of chances he'd 'a' had to make any of us any
trouble," sneered a miner.  "I reckon he cut an' run
right quick.  We've been figgerin' he's better off in some
other town.  Been thinkin' of chasin' him out.  Any
objections from th' marshal of Windsor?"

"Not a cussed one," answered Tex.  "He's a trouble-maker,
stayin' here.  Chuck him on th' train tomorrow
an' send him back East, where he come from.  An' his
sister, too, if you want."

Williams shook his head.  "Not her," he said.  "Henry'll
never let her git away from him.  He's aimin' to
take care of her; an' he shore can handle her, *he* can."

"I reckon he can," agreed Tex.  "I just come in to
get th' doc to go out an' look at Blascom.  Since he's
struck it rich he's been feedin' like a fool.  Them as live
by canned grub, dies by canned grub, says I; an' he's
close to doin' it.  I got a bottle of whiskey for him, but
I reckon gin will be better for his stummick.  Yes, a lot
better.  Hey, Baldy!" he shouted.  "Put me out a bottle
of gin an' set up th' drinks for all hands.  We'll drink
to a better understandin' an' to Hennery an' his bride."  He
pulled the pint flask from his pocket and winked at
his companions.  "I got a little somethin' extra, here.
Th' smoke of Scotch fires is in it.  Might as well use it
up," and he quickly filled the glasses on the table,
discovering when too late that he had none left for himself.
"Oh, well; whiskey is whiskey, to me.  I'll take some of
Baldy's with th' boys," and he swaggered over to the bar,
tossing a gold piece on the counter.

"Where's yore badge, Marshal?" asked Baldy, curiously.

Tex quickly felt of his coat lapel and then of his vest.
"Cuss it!" he growled.  "I knowed I'd lose that star--th'
pin was a little short to go far enough in th' socket.
Oh, well," he laughed, holding up his glass, "everyone
knows me now; an' they'll know me better as time goes
on.  Here's to Hennery!" he shouted.  "Drink her
standin'!"

The toast drunk to roaring jests, he took the gin and
went back to Williams.  "Goin' after th' doc," he
remarked.  "Lost my badge, too; but lemme say that
anybody found wearin' it shore will have bad luck.  See you
all tomorrow.  He's sick as a pup, Blascom is.  Good
night, an' sleep tight, as th' sayin' is!" he shouted
laughingly and nodding at the crowd he wheeled and went out.
Once secure from observation of any curious inhabitants
of the town, he ran to the horses, mounted, and
rode up to the Saunders' house, a home no longer.  Entering
it he quickly collected a bag of provisions and then,
milling the horses before the door to start a plain trail,
he cantered toward the station, where he crossed the
tracks and struck south for the old cattle trail.

All night he rode hard, sitting the sorrel to keep his
own horse fresh, and at dawn, giving them a ration of
corn each, he ate a cold and hurried breakfast and soon
was on his way again.  During the forenoon he let the
sorrel go, riding the gray with the depleted corn sack tied
to the pommel.  Several hours later he threw the still
further depleted sack on the roan, changed horses again
and turned the gray loose.  After nightfall he came
within sight of the lights of a small town and, waiting
until the hour was quite late, rode through it casually to
lose the tracks of his horse among the countless prints on
its streets.  He left it along a well-traveled trail leading
westward, one which would take him, eventually, to
Rawlins.

.. vspace:: 2

In the town of Gunsight, Dave Green was polishing
glasses behind his bar when a dusty, but smiling,
stranger rode up to the door and called out.  Grumbling,
Dave waddled forth to answer the summons.

"Which way to th' SV?" asked the stranger.  "I'm
lookin' for my friend Nelson."

"What is it--a house-raisin' or a christenin'?" asked
Dave, grinning broadly.  "Th' SV's gettin right pop'lar
these days--as it ought to be."  Dave cogitated a
moment.  This man said Nelson was a friend of his; but
if not, there would be no harm done to anyone on the SV.
Dave was quite certain of that, with Hopalong, Red, and
the outfit at Johnny's back.  Still, his curiosity was
aroused.  "Yore name Jones, or Ewalt?" he asked.

"Ewalt," replied Tex, grinning.

Dave left the door and gravely held out his hand.
"Heard tell about you, long ago," he said.  "We're good
friends till you horn into a poker game that I'm settin'
in.  Heard about you this mornin', too.  A tenderfoot, a
cowpunch, an' a reg'lar picture in skirts stopped an'
asked me what you did.  Also wanted to know if I had
seen Jones or Ewalt.  You just foller that Juniper trail,"
and he gave a description tiresome, and needlessly
detailed, to a man to whom compass points would have
sufficed.  "Jones comin', too?  Don't know I ever heard
of him."

"Jones is dead," said Tex with touching sorrow.  "Th'
pore ol' soul, we'll never see him more.  He had buttons
runnin' up his back, an' buttons down before."

"Too bad," replied Dave, but he was suspicious of
the other's grief.  He shook his head.  "Life shore is
uncertain.  You tell Johnny if he's havin' a party that I
ain't too fat to ride that far, not if I'm invited.  I ain't
much on dancin', but I'll do my best."

Tex nodded, thanked him for his information and
went on, gradually becoming lost in introspective musings.

"Omar," he muttered, shaking his head sadly, "I
ain't got no right.  I'm hard-boiled, an' I've reached
purty low levels th' last twenty years.  There ain't no
human meanness, no human weaknesses, hardly, that I
ain't seen.  My view of life is so cynical that it near
scares me, now.  I lost my illusions years ago, an'
I'm allus lookin' for th' basest motives for a man's
actions.  Besides, I'm forty-odd years old--an' that's *too*
old.

"Now you take Tommy Watkins.  He's fresh, young,
chock-a-block with illusions; trustin', ambitious, steady.
He's clean, body an' mind.  When he grows up, ten years
from now, he'll be a purty fair sort of a young man.  It
shore does beat all, Omar."

A little farther along he drew a deep breath and patted
the roan.  "Omar, I've made up my mind: Youth
should be for youth; illusions, for illusions; freshness,
for freshness; innocence, for innocence.  Her purity
deserves better than my mildewed soul--if a man's got
one."  After a moment's silence he patted the horse
again.  "Omar, yore name brings somethin' back to me:

   |  *Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire*
   |  *To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,*
   |    *Would not we shatter it to bits--and then*
   |  *Remould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!*
   |

.. _`314`:

Raising his head he saw a rattlesnake sunning itself on
a rocky patch of ground near the trail and his gun leaped
into crashing life.  The snake writhed, trying in vain to
coil.  A second shot stretched it lifeless.

"There, d--n you!" shouted Tex, shaking his fist at
the quivering body, "that's how I feel!" and, the burst
of passion gone as quickly as it had come, he shook his
head and rode on again, calm and determined.  At last
he came to the top of the last hill hiding the ranchhouse
and drew rein as he looked down into the north branch
of the SV valley.  A boy was riding along the bottom of
the slope and Tex hailed him.

"Hey, sonny!" shouted the ex-marshal.  "I'm lookin'
for Hopalong Cassidy.  Know where he is?"

"He's at th' house!" replied the boy.  "Yo're Tex
Ewalt!  Foller me, an' I'll beat you to him!"

"Bet yo're Charley!" responded Tex.  "Yo're shore
goin' to ride some, cowboy, if you aim to beat me!" and
a race was on.

There came a flurry of movement at the ranchhouse
door and three men ran to their saddled horses.  A
sudden cloud of dust rolled up and the three, bunched leg to
leg, raced toward the galloping newcomer.  Heedless of
Charley's vexatious appeal they shot past him and kept
on while he swung his pony around and saw them sweep
up to the slowing roan and surround him and his rider.
More soberly, after a hilarious welcome, the four, with
Charley endeavoring to wedge into shifting openings not
half large enough for his pony, they rode up to the
ranchhouse, where Jerry had run out to meet them, Margaret
Nelson at his heels.  As soon as he could Tex asked for
Jane and learned that she was resting.

"She has been under a very heavy strain, Mr. Ewalt,"
Margaret told him.  "She asked that you see her as soon
as you came; but she is sleeping, now, and it will be
better for her if you wait.  Her remorse is as great as
her horror and fatigue."

"I suppose so," replied Tex.  "That's the woman of
it.  She shot a beast in plain self-defense and now she's
remorseful.  Shucks--it's all my fault.  I should have
done it, myself, days before."

"I didn't say just what I think is causing her
remorse," replied Margaret, smiling enigmatically; "but
that is something a man should find out for himself,"
and, turning quickly, she entered the house.

Tex stared after her and then around the circle of
happy, grinning faces.  An answering smile crept to his
own, a smile wistful, but shaded with pain.

The next few days were busy ones from a conversational
standpoint, for there was a great deal to talk
about.  Tex learned the history of the SV's rejuvenation,
and his friends eagerly listened to the news he brought
from Montana, and to the messages he brought from
their friends; while Jane, much better because of the rest
she had had, sat by the cheerful group, smiling at the
perfect accord between its units and rapidly changing her
ideas of western men.  Here she saw friendships which
seemed to be founded on the eternal rock, unshakable,
unquestioning.  She found it almost impossible to believe
that these thin-lipped, yet kindly and smiling men, whose
trick of looking out through narrowed lids at first made
her wonder, each had killed again and again, as Margaret
had told her.  To her they were gravely kind, courteous,
and deferential, accepting her without question, their
manner a soothing assurance as to her safety.  Jerry and
Tommy were unquestionably accepted and made part of
the happy circle--they were friends of Tex Ewalt,
whom she now knew by his right name.  Johnny's boyish
enthusiasm and mischievous smile made it hard for her
to believe that he, single-handed, had overcome the odds
against him and cleared this range of its undesirable
inhabitants.  Margaret's proud account of his deeds rang
true, and Jane knew that they were true.

There they all sat on the front porch, telling
anecdotes on each other which amazed Jane, speaking of
remarkable exploits in matter-of-fact voices.  She learned
of Tex's part in the saving of Buck Peter's ranch, and
gradually pieced together the story of his activities in
Windsor.  Prodded by Tex, at last Johnny and Hopalong
gave a grudging exhibition of revolver shooting which
made her catch her breath.  Tex Ewalt had been right:
these two cheerful men could ride into Windsor and
wipe it from the map; and she no longer feared the
appearance of any of Williams' friends.  If they could find
and follow the trail, let them!

Tex was the quietest man in the party, and she was
pleased because he spoke only in the vernacular.  She
had not heard him deviate from it for one instant.  He
had no wish to "show off" at the expense of his roughly
speaking friends.  Tommy's garrulity, considering how
little he really had to say, sounded like the prattle of a
child among grown-ups; but he was a good, well-meaning
boy.  Daily he spoke of getting work on the Double X,
where Lin Sherwood could use another rider; but he had
made no attempt to go, preferring to stay where she was
and to follow her about at every opportunity.

Then came the afternoon when Johnny volunteered to
show his guests about the ranch and they had set out,
Tex remaining behind.  Jane had felt a restraint at the
thought of how close she and the ex-marshal would be
thrown together on this ranch, but soon found it to be
groundless.  Deferential, reserved, friendly, he had not
obtruded, and apparently had not noticed Tommy's
attentions.  They rode off, Jerry with their host, Tommy
at the side of Jane.  When down in the main valley
Johnny had turned off to look at the fenced-in
quicksands, Jerry going with him to see the now harmless
death trap, and Tommy remained behind with her; and
when they returned they found a flushed Jane and a
despondent Tommy.  The following morning when she sat
down to a late breakfast with Mr. Arnold, Johnny's
father-in-law, she learned quite casually that Tommy had
gone to the Double X and that the rest of the men, her
brother included, had ridden up to the north wire to
make some repairs.  Arnold explained about the difficulty
of keeping the posts up along the bottom of the ravine
where he had suffered his broken leg, and he told her of
the fondness of the cattle for the wilderness of brush and
of the difficult task of running a round-up on that part
of the ranch.

"Let me throw a saddle on yore horse, Miss
Saunders," he suggested.  "It will make a pleasant ride
for you; an' you can take 'em up some lunch if you like.
They've got a bigger task than they think, for th' ravine
floor is solid rock.  I'll send Charley with you--he's on
th' rampage because he overslept and I wouldn't let him
go up and bother them.  But he might as well go."

She thought for a moment, and then turned a grave
and pitiful face to him.

"I feel that I can ask you anything, Mr. Arnold; and
I'm so upset."

"You certainly can, Miss Saunders," he replied, abandoning
the vernacular in response to her way of speaking.

She hurriedly told him of the killing of Henry
Williams, of the blood on her hands, but avoided the real
appeal, the question she must find her own answer to.
He heard her through, and, arising, placed a fatherly
hand on her shoulder.

"Jane," he said, slowly shaking his head.  "Environment,
circumstances, change all things.  There's not a
man on this ranch that doesn't feel proud of what he
knows about you.  A woman has as much right, and
often a greater need, to defend herself, as a man has.
Don't you worry about that beast; and don't you worry
about anyone coming down here after you.  We can
muster forty fighting men, if we need them, purely on
Johnny's say-so.  We're all proud of you.  Now I'll
saddle your horse while Peggy puts up the lunch.  You and
Charley can easily carry it between you.  There's no
place down here where you can't safely go; but please
keep in the saddle while you're on the range.  These
cattle are dangerous to anyone afoot."

While the simple preparations were being made she
heard Charley's exultant whoops and soon she rode with
him toward the upper end of the small valley, listening
to his worshiping chatter about his heroes.  Now he had
a new one, the man who could pull poker hands out of a
fellow's nose, eyes, and ears.

"He'd 'a' got that Hennery feller, too," he averred,
"only you beat him out.  Gee, Miss Saunders!  Wish
I'd 'a' been there!  I ain't never shot nobody yet--but
you just wait, that's all!  I heard Tex say he'd 'a' shot
up th' whole d--d town if they'd tried to bother you--an'
Hoppy said he could 'a' done it, *easy*!  Hoppy knows,
too.  Why don't you like Tex, Miss Saunders?  I think
he's aces-up!"

"Why, I do, Charley.  Whatever made you ask me that?"

"Well, if you do, Tex don't think so," he grumbled.
"You know that pile of rock, up on th' hill where th'
Gunsight trail winds like a letter S?"

She nodded.  She could see it plainly from her window.

"Well, I was layin' up there, keepin' watch for that
Williams' gang, an' he never even reckoned anybody was
near him!" he boasted.  "Takes a good man to find me
when I don't want him to, I tell you.  Injuns can't, an'
they're cussed cute, Hoppy says."

"Who was it who didn't see you?"

"Tex," chuckled the boy.  "He come walkin' along
like there wasn't nobody around, an' he sorta slammed
hisself down on th' rock next to th' top one.  You an'
Tommy an' Jerry was ridin' back from th' main valley.
We could just see you, me an' him, only he didn't know
*I* was there.  After awhile we could see plain.  Jerry
rode off to look at somethin', an kinda fell back, leavin'
you an' Tommy goin' on without him.  I was watchin'
Tex, because he had a funny look on his face.  He just
looked steady, an' when he saw you two ridin' along
together, he threw out his arms an' said somethin' about
bein' like Jerry.  Somethin' about falling back an' seein'
you an' Tommy ridin' through life together--as if
anybody would ride as long as that!  Tell you what: These
grown-ups say some cussed foolish things.  There was
tears in his eyes--him, a grown-up, gun-fightin'
son-of-a-gun!  Huh!  An' they used to tease me when *I* cried!
What you think about that?"  He looked eagerly at her
for the answer and then snorted in frank disgust.  "Cuss
it--an' yo're snifflin', too!  I'll be a son-of-a-gun!"

"You mustn't tell anyone about it, Charley!" she
pleaded.  "They won't understand!"

"I won't," he promised.  "Don't blame you for bein'
ashamed.  Tex would 'a' been, too, if he knowed I saw
him.  Then mebby he wouldn't go up there every night
an' watch yore window till the light goes out, an' I
wouldn't have nobody to trail.  Reckon he's scared that
Williams gang will trail you down here?  Huh!  With
him settin' up there, me roamin' loose, an' with Johnny,
Hoppy, an' Red in th' house, I shore wish they would
come a-pokin' their noses around here!  I tell you,
things'd shore pop.  If Tex could clean out their whole
town all alone, they'd shore have a pleasant time down
here ag'in' him an' his friends!  Gee!"

After supper the nightly gathering on the porch passed
a pleasant hour or two and then dwindled as its members
retired, the two women and Charley going first.  Jerry
followed soon afterward and not much later Red and
Hopalong left to go to the bunkhouse, where they now
were berthed.  Arnold soon went into the house, to the
room which Tex stubbornly had refused to occupy, the
latter preferring the bunkhouse with his old friends.
After a cigarette or two Johnny said good night and left
his companion alone.  Tex arose, paced restlessly to and
fro across the yard and, wheeling abruptly, went toward
the corral.  He had not been gone very long when
Charley, noiselessly crawling out of the window of the
room he shared with his father, froze in his tracks as he
heard a noise beyond the summer kitchen.  He had Red's
Winchester, which he had taken from the gun rack in the
dining-room, and he scouted cautiously toward the
suspicious sounds.  The moonlight let him see plainly, and
he drew back behind the corner of the building as Jane
rode away, leaving the light burning brightly in her room.

Charley frankly was puzzled.  "Somethin's goin' on,"
he cogitated.  "I was goin' to stalk Tex--now I dunno.
Shucks!  He can look out for hisself, but she might get
lost.  Reckon I'll foller her."  He suited action to the
words and soon was riding after her, keeping out of her
sight with a woodcraft worthy of his elders.

She led him along the Gunsight trail, closer and closer
to the S it made up the rocky hill, and because of the
view commanded by the rocky pile on the summit, he had
to dismount, picket his horse, and proceed on foot,
working from cover to cover, often on hands and knees.

Tex had taken his time, buried in thought, oblivious to
everything outside of himself.  He followed the well-marked
trail instinctively and soon reached the top of the
hill, where he sat quietly in the saddle for a few minutes.
Finally, shaking his head, he dismounted and listlessly
walked to the place of his nightly vigil.  Seating himself
on the top-most bowlder he gazed steadily at the yellow
light of the distant window and, like many men of his
class, given to solitude, he argued his problem aloud.  It
seemed that often he could think more clearly that way.

This could not go on.  Tomorrow he would start back
to Montana, and he soon arose to return to the SV, to
spend his last night there.  As he went back to his horse
another verse came to his mind, a verse of finality, and
one fitting the present situation.  He laughed bitterly and
flung out his arms:

   |  *And when like her, O Sákí, you shall pass*
   |  *Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,*
   |    *And in your blissful errand reach the spot*
   |  *Where I made One--turn down an empty Glass!*
   |

Suddenly he stiffened, his hands leaping instinctively
to his guns.  Then he let them fall to his sides and stared
unbelievingly: "Miss Saunders!" he exclaimed in
amazement.  "Why--what are you--?" and ceased,
tongue-tied.

"You are--going away?" she asked, her voice breaking,
speaking so low he barely could hear her words.

"Tomorrow."

She hung her head for a moment and then turned a
wistful, anxious face up to him.  "I--I heard what you
have been saying.  O Tex--I--I am going with you!"

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   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

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*The greatest pleasure in life is
that of reading.  Why not then
own the books of great novelists
when the price is so small*

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*Of all the amusements which can possibly
be imagined for a hard-working man, after
his daily toil, or, in its intervals, there is
nothing like reading an entertaining book.
It calls for no bodily exertion.  It transports
him into a livelier, and gayer, and more
diversified and interesting scene, and while he
enjoys himself there he may forget the evils
of the present moment.  Nay, it accompanies
him to his next day's work, and gives him
something to think of besides the mere
mechanical drudgery of his every-day
occupation--something he can enjoy while absent,
and look forward with pleasure to return to.*

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*Ask your dealer for a list of the titles
in Burt's Popular Priced Fiction*

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*In buying the books bearing the
A. L. Burt Company imprint
you are assured of wholesome,
entertaining and instructive reading*

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   THE BEST OF RECENT FICTION

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Adventurer of Jimmie Dale, The.  Frank L. Packard.
Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.  A. Conan Doyle.
Affair at Flower Acres, The.  Carolyn Wells.
Affinities and Other Stories.  Mary Roberts Rinehart.
After House, The.  Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Against the Winds.  Kate Jordan.
Alcatraz.  Max Brand.
Alias Richard Power.  William Allison.
All the Way by Water.  Elizabeth Stancy Payne.
Amateur Gentleman, The.  Jeffery Farnol.
Amateur Inn, The.  Albert Payson Terhune.
Anna the Adventuress.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Anne's House of Dreams.  L. M. Montgomery.
Anybody But Anne.  Carolyn Wells.
Are All Men Alike, and The Lost Titian.  Arthur Stringer.
Around Old Chester.  Margaret Deland.
Arrant Rover, The.  Berta Ruck.
Athalie.  Robert W. Chambers.
At the Mercy of Tiberius.  Augusta Evans Wilson.
At Sight of Gold.  Cynthia Lombardi.
Auction Block, The.  Rex Beach.
Aunt Jane of Kentucky.  Eliza C. Hall.
Awakening of Helena Ritchie.  Margaret Deland.

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Bab: a Sub-Deb.  Mary Roberts Rinehart
Bar 20.  Clarence E. Mulford.
Bar 20 Days.  Clarence E. Mulford.
Bar 20 Three.  Clarence E. Mulford.
Barrier, The.  Rex Beach.
Bars of Iron, The.  Ethel M. Dell.
Bat Wing.  Sax Rohmer.
Beasts of Tarzan, The.  Edgar Rice BurrougHs.
Beautiful and Damned, The.  F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Beauty.  Rupert Hughes.
Behind Locked Doors.  Ernest M. Poate.
Bella Donna.  Robert Hichens.  (Photoplay Ed.).
Beloved Traitor, The.  Frank L. Packard.
Beloved Vagabond, The.  Wm. J. Locke.
Beloved Woman, The.  Kathleen Norris.
Beltane the Smith.  Jeffery Farnol.
Betrayal, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Beyond the Frontier.  Randall Parrish.
Big Timber.  Bertrand W. Sinclair.
Black Bartlemy's Treasure.  Jeffery Farnol.
Black Buttes.  Clarence E. Mulford.
Black Caesar's Clan.  Albert Payson Terhune,
Black Gold.  Albert Payson Terhune.
Black Is White.  George Barr McCutcheon.
Black Oxen.  Gertrude Atherton.  (Photoplay Ed.).
Blue Circle, The.  Elizabeth Jordan.
Bob, Son of Battle.  Alfred Olivant.
Box With Broken Seals, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim
Brandon of the Engineers.  Harold Bindloss.
Breaking Point, The.  Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Bridge of Kisses.  Berta Ruck.
Bring Me His Ears.  Clarence E. Mulford.
Broad Highway, The.  Jeffery Farnol.
Broken Barriers.  Meredith Nicholson.
Brown Study, The.  Grace S. Richmond.
Buck Peters, Ranchman.  Clarence E. Mulford.
Bush-Rancher, The.  Harold Bindloss.

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Cabbages and Kings.  O. Henry.
Cabin Fever.  B. M. Bower.
Calling of Dan Matthews, The.  Harold Bell Wright.
Cape Cod Stories.  Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cap'n Dan's Daughter.  Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cap'n Eri.  Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cap'n Warren's Wards.  Joseph C. Lincoln.
Carnac's Folly.  Gilbert Parker.
Cat's Paw, The.  Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
Cattle.  Winnifred Eaton.
Certain People of Importance.  Kathleen Norris.
Chief Legatee, The.  Anna Katharine Green.
Cinema Murder, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
City of Lilies, The.  Anthony Pryde and R. K. Weehes.
City of Peril, The.  Arthur Stringer.
Clipped Wings.  Rupert Hughes.
Clue of the New Pin, The.  Edgar Wallace.
Colorado Jim.  George Goodchild.
Coming of Cassidy, The.  Clarence E. Mulford.
Coming of the Law, The.  Chas. A. Seltzer.
Communicating Door, The.  Wadsworth Camp.
Comrades of Peril.  Randall Parrish.
Conquest of Canaan, The.  Booth Tarkington.
Contraband.  Clarence Budington Kelland.
Court of Inquiry, A.  Grace S. Richmond.
Crimson Blotter, The.  Isabel Ostrander.
Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure.  Rex Beach.
Crimson Tide, The.  Robert W. Chambers.
Cross Currents.  Author of "Pollyanna."
Cross Pull, The.  Hal G. Evarts.
Cry in the Wilderness, A.  Mary E. Waller.
Cry of Youth, A.  Cynthia Lombardi.
Cup of Fury, The.  Rupert Hughes.
Curious Quest, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Curved Blades, The.  Carolyn Wells.
Cytherea.  Joseph Hergesheimer.

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Damsel in Distress, A.  Pelham G. Wodehouse.
Dancing Star, The.  Berta Ruck.
Danger and Other Stories.  A. Conan Doyle.
Dark Hollow.  Anna Katharine Green.
Daughter Pays, The.  Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
Depot Master, The.  Joseph C. Lincoln.
Desert Healer, The.  E. M. Hull.
Destroying Angel, The.  Louis Joseph Vance.  (Photoplay Ed.).
Devil's Paw, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Diamond Thieves, The.  Arthur Stringer.
Disturbing Charm, The.  Berta Ruck.
Donnegan.  George Owen Baxter.
Door of Dread, The.  Arthur Stringer.
Doors of the Night.  Frank L. Packard.
Dope.  Sax Rohmer.
Double Traitor, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Dust of the Desert.  Robert Welles Ritchie.

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Empty Hands.  Arthur Stringer.
Empty Pockets.  Rupert Hughes.
Empty Sack, The.  Basil King.
Enchanted Canyon.  Honoré Willsie.
Enemies of Women.  V. B. Ibanez.  (Photoplay Ed.).
Eris.  Robert W. Chambers.
Erskine Dale, Pioneer.  John Fox, Jr.
Evil Shepherd, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Extricating Obadiah.  Joseph C. Lincoln.
Eye of Zeitoon, The.  Talbot Mundy.
Eyes of the Blind.  Arthur Somers Roche.
Eyes of the World.  Harold Bell Wright.

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Fair Harbor.  Joseph C. Lincoln.
Family.  Wayland Wells Williams.
Fathoms Deep.  Elizabeth Stancy Payne.
Feast of the Lanterns.  Louise Gordon Miln.
Fighting Chance, The.  Robert W. Chambers.
Fighting Shepherdess, The.  Caroline Lockhart.
Financier, The.  Theodore Dreiser.
Fire Tongue.  Sax Rohmer.
Flaming Jewel, The.  Robert W. Chambers.
Flowing Gold.  Rex Beach.
Forbidden Trail, The.  Honoré Willsie.
Forfeit, The.  Ridgwell Cullum.
Four Million, The.  O. Henry.
Foursquare.  Grace S. Richmond.
Four Stragglers, The.  Frank L. Packard.
Free Range Lanning.  George Owen Baxter.
From Now On.  Frank L. Packard.
Fur Bringers, The.  Hulbert Footner.
Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale.  Frank L. Packard.

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Galusha the Magnificent.  Joseph C. Lincoln.
Gaspards of Pine Croft, The.  Ralph Connor.
Gay Year, The.  Dorothy Speare.
Gift of the Desert.  Randall Parrish.
Girl in the Mirror, The.  Elizabeth Jordan.
Girl from Kellers, The.  Harold Bindloss.
Girl Philippa, The.  Robert W. Chambers.
Girls at His Billet, The.  Berta Ruck.
Glory Rides the Range.  Ethel and James Borrance.
God's Country and the Woman.  James Oliver Curwood.
God's Good Man.  Marie Correlli.
Going Some.  Rex Beach.
Gold Girl, The.  James B. Hendryx.
Gold-Killer.  John Prosper.
Golden Scorpion, The.  Sax Rohmer.
Golden Slipper, The.  Anna Katherine Green.
Golden Woman, The.  Ridgwell Cullum.
Gray Phantom, The.  Herman Landon.
Gray Phantom's Return, The.  Herman Landon.
Great Impersonation, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Great Prince Shan, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Greater Love Hath No Man.  Frank L. Packard.
Green Eyes of Bast, The.  Sax Rohmer.
Green Goddess, The.  Louise Jordan Miln.  (Photoplay Ed.).
Greyfriars Bobby.  Eleanor Atkinson.
Gun Brand, The.  James B. Hendryx.
Gun Runner, The.  Arthur Stringer.
Guns of the Gods.  Talbot Mundy.

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Hand of Fu-Manchu, The.  Sax Rohmer.
Hand of Peril, The.  Arthur Stringer.
Harbor Road, The.  Sara Ware Bassett.
Harriet and the Piper.  Kathleen Norris.
Havoc.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Head of the House of Coombe, The.  Frances Hodgson Burnett.
Heart of the Desert, The.  Honoré Willsie.
Heart of the Hills, The.  John Fox, Jr.
Heart of the Range, The.  William Patterson White.
Heart of the Sunset.  Rex Beach.
Heart of Unaga, The.  Ridgwell Cullum.
Helen of the Old House.  Harold Bell Wright.
Hidden Places, The.  Bertrand W. Sinclair.
Hidden Trails.  William Patterson White.
Hillman, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Hira Singh.  Talbot Mundy.
His Last Bow.  A. Conan Doyle.
His Official Fiancee.  Berta Ruck.
Homeland.  Margaret Hill McCarter.
Homestead Ranch.  Elizabeth G. Young.
Honor of the Big Snows.  James Oliver Curwood.
Hopalong Cassidy.  Clarence E. Mulford.
Hound from the North, The.  Ridgwell Cullum.
House of the Whispering Pines, The.  Anna Katharine Green.
Humoresque.  Fannie Hurst.

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Illustrious Prince, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
In Another Girl's Shoes.  Berta Ruck.
Indifference of Juliet, The.  Grace S. Richmond.
Infelice.  Augusta Evans Wilson.
Initials Only.  Anna Katharine Green.
Innocent.  Marie Corelli.
Innocent Adventuress, The.  Mary Hastings Bradley.
Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, The.  Sax Rohmer.
In the Brooding Wild.  Ridgwell Cullum.
In the Onyx Lobby.  Carolyn Wells.
Iron Trail, The.  Rex Beach.
Iron Woman, The.  Margaret Deland.
Ishmael.  (Ill.) Mrs. Southworth.
Isle of Retribution.  Edison Marshall.
I've Married Marjorie.  Margaret Widdemer.
Ivory Trail, The.  Talbot Mundy.

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Jacob's Ladder.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Jean of the Lazy A.  B. M. Bower.
Jeanne of the Marshes.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Jeeves.  P. G. Wodehouse.
Jimmie Dale and the Phantom Clew.  Frank L. Packard.
Johnny Nelson.  Clarence E. Mulford.
Joseph Greer and His Daughter.  Henry Kitchell Webster.
Judith of the Godless Valley.  Honoré Willsie.

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Keeper of the Door, The.  Ethel M. Dell.
Keith of the Border.  Randall Parrish.
Kent Knowles: Quahaug.  Joseph C. Lincoln.
Kilmeny of the Orchard.  L. M. Montgomery.
Kingdom of the Blind, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
King of Kearsarge.  Arthur O. Friel.
King of the Khyber Rifles.  Talbot Mundy.
King Spruce.  Holman Day.
Knave of Diamonds, The.  Ethel M. Dell.

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Land-Girl's Love Story.  A. Berta Ruck.
Land of Strong Men, The.  A. M. Chisholm.
Laramie Holds the Range.  Frank H. Spearman.
Last Trail, The.  Zane Grey.
Laughing Bill Hyde.  Rex Beach.
Laughing Girl, The.  Robert W. Chambers.
Law Breakers, The.  Ridgwell Cullum.
Law of the Gun, The.  Ridgwell Cullum.
Leavenworth Case, The.  Anna Katherine Green.  (Photoplay Edition).
Light That Failed, The.  Rudyard Kipling.  (Photoplay Ed.).
Lighted Way, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Lin McLean.  Owen Wister.
Lister's Great Adventure.  Harold Bindloss.
Little Moment of Happiness, The.  Clarence Budington Kelland.
Little Red Foot, The.  Robert W. Chambers.
Little Warrior, The.  Pelham Grenville Wodehouse.
Lonely Warrior, The.  Claude C. Washburn.
Lonesome Land.  B. M. Bower.
Lone Wolf, The.  Louis Joseph Vance.
Long Live the King.  Mary Roberts Rinehart.  (Photoplay Edition).
Lost Ambassador.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Lost Discovery, The.  Baillie Reynolds.
Lost Prince, The.  Frances Hodgson Burnett.
Lost World, The.  A. Conan Doyle.
Luck of the Kid, The.  Ridgwell Cullum.
Lucretia Lombard, Kathleen Norris,
Luminous Face, The.  Carolyn Wells.
Lydia of the Pines.  Honoré Willsie.
Lynch Lawyers, William Patterson White.

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McCarty Incog.  Isabel Ostrander.
Major, The.  Ralph Connor.
Maker of History, A.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Malefactor, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Man and Maid.  Elinor Glyn.
Man from Bar 20, The.  Clarence E. Mulford.
Man from the Bitter Roots, The.  Caroline Lockhart.
Man in the Moonlight, The.  Rupert S. Holland.
Man in the Twilight, The.  Ridgwell Cullum.
Man Killers, The.  Dane Coolidge.
Man Who Couldn't Sleep, The.  Arthur Stringer.
Man's Country.  Peter Clark Macfarlane.
Marqueray's Duel.  Anthony Pryde.
Martin Conisby's Vengeance.  Jeffery Farnol.
Mary-Gusta.  Joseph C. Lincoln.
Mary Wollaston.  Henry Kitchell Webster.
Mason of Bar X Ranch.  H. Bennett.
Master of Man.  Hall Caine.
Master Mummer, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.  A.  Conan Doyle.
Men Who Wrought, The.  Ridgwell Cullum.
Meredith Mystery, The.  Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
Midnight of the Ranges.  George Gilbert.
Mine with the Iron Door, The.  Harold Bell Wright.
Mischief Maker, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Missioner, The.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Miss Million's Maid.  Berta Ruck.
Money, Love and Kate.  Eleanor H. Porter.
Money Master, The.  Gilbert Parker.
Money Moon, The.  Jeffery Farnol.
Moonlit Way, The.  Robert W. Chambers.
More Limehouse Nights.  Thomas Burke.
More Tish.  Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Moreton Mystery, The.  Elizabeth Dejeans.
Mr. and Mrs. Sen.  Louise Jordan Miln.
Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo.  E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Mr. Pratt.  Joseph C. Lincoln.
Mr. Pratt's Patients.  Joseph C. Lincoln.
Mrs. Red Pepper.  Grace S. Richmond.
Mr. Wu.  Louise Jordan Miln.
My Lady of the North.  Randall Parrish.
My Lady of the South.  Randall Parish.
Mystery Girl, The.  Carolyn Wells.

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