Читать книгу The Bar 20 Rides Again - Clarence E. Mulford - Страница 10

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Connected events were occurring almost simultaneously in different parts of the country. At the little hamlet of McKenzie the foreman of the UX waited on the station platform for the eastbound accommodation, since no other train even hesitated at this humble collection of four buildings. His wife sat on her small trunk, trying to be brave, to keep her face shining although her heart was dull. Somehow, it was not so much the danger in itself that worried her, for she had vivid memories of dangers passed through when her husband faced, almost alone, a hostile town; and she gathered from his remarks that there would be little danger for him to face in the part he had elected to play. He would not be with the fighting force. Of this he had assured her. So it was not so much the danger as it was the distance which would separate them, and the knowledge that he could not write to her. The sum of these things made a total which punished her cruelly. Why couldn't she have gone down to Margaret Nelson, to give courage, and to receive it? She looked up, and smiled.

"Dear, if you need your heavier flannels, there is one suit at the bottom of the valise. I know what you said, but thought it better to put it in, anyway. There was plenty of room for it."

Tex Ewalt, willingly on his way to grin at Death at close range, rested his hand on her shoulder, not knowing how close he came to starting tears which needed only slight encouragement.

"Glad you thought of them, Jane; they'll come in handy. If there is no one to meet you at Wayback, go to Cozzen's stables, tell them who you are, and have them drive you to the Double Y." He chuckled. "But I'm bettin' old Buck will be on hand an hour before train time."

"I'm half sorry that I am not going to stay with Jerry," she cogitated, thinking that, in her ministrations to her brother, she would have less time to worry.

Tex was very patient in this revival of a matter already argued and settled.

"But, you know, Jerry is roughing it high up in the hills, where his lungs will have a chance to heal," he said, sitting down beside her. "A sheep camp is no place for a woman. You would only complicate things for him, and be the most lonely woman on earth."

He did not tell her that Jerry's attempt to find a cure was a dangerous one; that a sheep herder in that part of the country not only was considered to be the lowest of human beings, but lived in a constant danger zone, and one which moved as he moved. Tex, himself, had a wholesome contempt for Jerry's calling; but, knowing the circumstances, he excused his brother-in-law's choice. The man could not stand the hard riding of the ranges and was too proud to live on the earnings of others. Sheep herder or not, Jerry had good stuff in him.

"Up there on the Double Y," he continued, "you'll have company of your own sex, you'll find Buck Peters the kindest man you every knew, and in twenty-four hours' time you'll be worshipping at Rose Peters' feet." He playfully pulled her ear. "It's a good thing for you, young lady, that Buck saw her first!"

The rails clicked softly, and a smudge of smoke spoiled the view over the curving hills west of the hamlet.

"I won't be gone long, dear; not with that crowd hammering in their old-time way," he assured her. "As I said, there is very little danger for me. For them it is different. Before fall settles down on this range we'll be back again, laughing at all this. Give my letter to Buck: he'll know what to do with it. Only hope it gets there in time to catch Hopalong. Here she comes, limping, as usual."

He was right. The short, ugly train swung around the curve and seemed to stop with gratitude. Tex picked up the trunk, heaved it into the combination forward car, and then helped his wife up the dusty, grimy steps of the car next to it, where a wailing infant did its best to complete an already dispirited atmosphere.

"Keep an eye on her, Captain," said Tex to the brakeman, slyly shaking hands with the train man. "Put her off at Wayback, trunk an' all."

The brakeman slid his hand into his pocket and brought it out empty.

"Off she goes at Wayback, stranger, if it takes th' hull train crew. Thanks." He grinned, glanced at the conductor, and swung on board. "Trunk an' all," he said.

A shudder passed down the cars, chains rattled, and one flat wheel began its maddening, monotonous whack, whack, whack. A small white handkerchief fluttered from an open window, a brave little handkerchief which would neither be white nor dry for long. The sombrero in Tex's hand waved energetically, and continued to wave in diminishing rhythm until the last car swung from sight in the gray yellow cut.

He stopped abruptly, glanced around with a feeling of guilt, and slammed the hat on his head. The station agent locked the door of the little office and emerged, eager to get back to his ploughing. Catching sight of the lone and lonely puncher, he grinned knowingly and walked that way.

"Kinda tough, th' first time," he said, kindly. "Couple years more an' you'll give three hearty cheers when she goes visitin'. Take my word for that. Busy out at the ranch?"

"Same as usual. Heard anythin' recent about Number Ten?"

"Seventeen minutes late. You takin' her?"

"If she gets here, I aim to."

"Why didn't you say so before I locked th' office?" asked the station agent reprovingly, as he reluctantly pulled out his keys. "You might as well get yore ticket now, I reckon, an' be all ready for her."

"No hurry; I can wait till you come back," replied Tex.

"Goin' far?"

"Salt Lake City," lied Tex. He thought that he might as well keep in practice, seeing that he had begun already in his reassuring remarks to his wife; and, besides, he was giving out no information. He grinned. "Aim to find me a job, herdin' sheep."

The agent's jaw dropped and he studied his companion, his face blank from surprise. Then a grin stole over it.

"Yeah, reckon so," he drawled. "Yo're th' kind that takes to herdin' them damn things—with a gun." Another change of expression wiped off the grin. "Ain't figgerin' on visitin' that Jerry feller, are you?" The agent had forgotten that this man's brother-in-law was now a sheep herder.

"You never can tell what a man'll do when he gets out of th' hobbles of matrimony," said Tex. "There's worse things than herdin' sheep." In his mind he was checking off several of these, taking them from the memory of his own earlier days.

"Mebby—that is, I reckon so," muttered the agent, feeling that he had blundered. "Well, good luck. I got to get back to my ploughin'." He shuffled off, paused to fling reassurance over his shoulder about having the ticket window open in time, and went on again at a swifter pace.

The agent did get the ticket window open in time, a ticket to the Junction was purchased, the train came in a good half hour to the bad, and went on again, with Tex Ewalt in the smoker, where he settled himself comfortably in an atmosphere which smelled of Indians and strong tobacco, drew his hat down over his eyes, and began to plan rather an intricate course of action. The miles went past unheeded until the Junction was reached. As the train was late, the usual hour between the westbound and the southbound trains was reduced to fifteen minutes; but this was time enough to eat a meal and get another ticket. Southbound now, on a limited train, Tex had a compartment to himself where he could practise steadily with a deck of cards, and again he became oblivious to the clicking miles; and with each mile put rearward his face seemed to change, to grow cynically hard and appraising. He had a part to play, which once had been more than a part; he had to go in thought and action and looks back into the years when not a prowling wolf had been as cold, as unthinkingly cruel, as cunning as this same Tex Ewalt. Having once lived the part and breathed it every waking hour, his task would not be difficult. As a fillip to his acting, his life would be at stake, and his life, nowadays, was a very precious thing. Before Jane had come into it——He checked himself with a grunt. This was not good for his acting.

Many weary hours had dragged their punishing lengths before Denver came into sight, snuggling cozily under a distant line of snow-clad peaks and rugged mountain sides. In the several years which had elapsed since Tex had walked on its streets, many changes had taken place in Denver, the most noticeable being its increase in size and the better class of buildings which now fenced in its avenues. He wondered if he had lost touch with those things which he now needed, and a vague dismay troubled him for a moment. Ignoring the better part of town, he sought out one street unerringly, and breathed gently in relief as one certain building caught his eye. This was reassuring: at any rate, the building was still there, and its windows were filled with all of the old-time litter.

He entered the building and rested his arms on a counter, watching the shuffling figure come toward him from the little door, in the partition in the rear. Tex remembered that at one time that door and the partition had been very much stronger than they appeared to be; and he remembered the heavy bars in the rear windows. The old man had aged greatly in the last few years, and he still wore the same old thick lenses in his spectacles.

"Howdy," said Tex, smiling a little. "Got any factory sorts an' strippers?"

The proprietor raised his hands and shook his head.

"Vot language is dot? Factory sorts und strippers? Vot you mean?" He looked to be mildly indignant, as though suspecting that he was being made fun of.

"I lost my outfit," explained Tex. "Got to get a new one. Never did care for shade work, or artificial markings; and wedges are too risky in th' company I'll be in. Even taking a big chance with strippers, although I ain't plannin' to use 'em. Some wise fool will discover 'em, steal 'em, an' get me into a heavy game, thinkin' he's disarmed me by stealin' my tools."

"Mister," said the proprietor, coldly, "your business ain't my business. I care nodding for vot company you ged in. Vy shouldt I? Speak English und I understand id; I make nodding oudt of vot you say."

"How come yo're still doin' business here?" asked Tex, perfectly at home. "Reckon you'd been jailed or chased out of town long before this." Carelessly, he had turned his hands until the balls of his fingers could be seen by his companion, whose gaze instantly settled on them. The old man got closer to them, and their effect on him was positive. He became even more hostile and cold. If they thought to trap him, they would have to send in some man whose fingers did not bear the signs of toil; whose hands and face and neck were not browned to a copper-walnut colour by winds and sun. They must have a dumber crowd up at headquarters than even he had thought. The old eyes behind the thick lenses became cunning, not veiling the suspicion in the old head.

"Subbose you say vot you vant, mister? I am busy."

"I've already told you what I want," said Tex, and then he added one more word, in so low a voice that it barely carried across the counter.

The old eyes widened, slowly losing their hostility. A look of wonder and doubt crossed the wrinkled face.

"Id iss nod so," muttered the proprietor. Then he leaned far across the counter, peering suspiciously into the face now close to his own. "Ach!" he exclaimed. "Id iss Tex! Vere haf you been all dis time? How come dose hard fingers, dot tan? You haf nod been in chail or you vould be vite und soft. Glad I am to see you, Tex! Vait, I show you some factory sorts as vill blease efen you. Ach, Gott, der time as has passed!"

The old man beckoned and led his customer through the small door in the partition, locking it behind them and shooting two massive bolts. He turned and passed his hands across his caller's shoulders, holding the arms affectionately as he peered happily into the sun-browned face.

"Ach, Tex, glad I am to see you vunce more. So glad you do nod know. I thought you deadt." He chuckled and stepped back, to admire a more complete figure and rubbed his hands in satisfaction. "Still lean, still hard, mine friendt. But vot haf you done mit dose wunderbare fingers, eh? You haf ruint dem, vich is a pidy."

"Oh, no; they'll come back to form," said the smiling owner of the fingers. "I've been earning an honest living with horse an' rope, Professor. But, from the sheer love of dexterity, I have never stopped practising. Now I am going to make an easier living."

"Und a goot vun, if you can get back again. A goot vun: ach, no man could make a besser. Vait, let me show you."

Tex watched him climb to the topmost shelf and helped him down with a box. Odds and ends came out of it, tarnished jewellery, so called; a loading tool, a pair of cheap and dented field glasses, parts of watches, old knives. From the bottom of the box, the old man lifted up a tightly wrapped package, handling it affectionately, as a music master might handle a rare old violin.

"Dese gamblers now haf no use for cards like dese," he mourned. "Dey are bunglers, alvays vanting markers. Vy, I sell more hold-oudts as you vould pelief! Vot chance has a man god ven caught mid hold-oudts, or line-vork, or shade vork? He has none, vatefer. Look, mine friendt; look vonce at dese!" He untied the string with eagerly trembling hands and gave Tex a pack of cards, sealed as they had been when they left the factory. "Vait, led me open dot seal; I fear dose fingers, mine friendt: dey look so clumsy, vot?"

Tex spread the deck across the table in one swift flourish, bending low to scrutinize the ends of the criss-cross markings, moving his head to catch the right light reflected from the glazed surfaces. There were no dull spots to be found: no acid had touched the backs. Swiftly he sorted out four piles of four cards each, and then turned them over, face up. Aces, Kings, Queens, and Jacks lay exposed, each in its own group. He flexed his fingers and wiped them on a towel to make certain that perspiration and dirt should not stain such tools. Swiftly bunching the deck, he shuffled, cut, dealt; scooped them up and repeated the actions, the old German's eyes close to the swiftly moving hands.

"Ach, you can do it!" exclaimed the old man, gleefully. "You can come back vonce more. You are besser, efen now, dan 'most any man in town!"

He took the cards from Tex's hand and put them back in the box, refixing the seal.

"From two dozen packs, und more, dese cards vere sorted. Dey are perfect. Dey can be examined mit a glass, und nodding show. Dere is nodding dere to see, vot? Subbose id is seen dot dose diamont markings are crossed der same, in efery group, by der vite border? Are you to be blamed for dot? Nein. Dey are from der factory sent oudt like dot!"

Tex nodded, for the cards had not been touched, not altered. They were just as they had come from the press; but they had been artfully selected.

"What was th' idea of keepin' 'em in that box, up on th' top shelf?"

"Oudt of der vay. Noboddy vants dem. I put dem avay, like in a tomb. Dese gamblers, now, go look for suckers, und suckers are idiots. Anything vill do for a sucker. If he iss drunk, den so much der besser. Times haf changed, mine friendt; times haf changed. But now, ach, I could laugh. Der grosser volf he iss come back to prey on volves: but, besser you first fix dose finger tips; besser you do dot. Ha-ha-ha! Der Meister ist wieder zurück gekommen." He chuckled down in his throat and began to paw around on a shelf holding bottles. "Here id iss; take it mid you, Tex. Vun veek like der bottle says, und your fingers are goot again."

"What's th' price for th' cards?" asked Tex.

"Prices, too, haf changed. Vonce——" the old man raised his hands expressively. "Dey are no goot for me no more. Take der six packs for zwelf dollar. Iss id fair?"

"More than fair. Toss you, double or quits," said Tex.

"Ach, he iss back already! Nein, nein. I do nod gamble." He beamed at a sudden thought. "Did you see dot der packs are all different on der backs, in case you shouldt vant to plant dem? A goot choice of pattern, hein?"

"How could I, when you only showed me one pack?" asked Tex, laughing as he counted out the money. He patted the old man on the shoulder and faced the locked and bolted door.

"Ach, he vants to double me or quits! Already he iss back again!"

"I was just practisin', Professor; just gettin' back in harness. I'll be back inside th' week, an' I want you to fix me up a travellin' layout. Make it tin-horn, cheap an' well worn. Shells an' peas, with a little shoe-maker's wax. Three-card spread, an' all that. You know what I need. I'm going up in th' gulches an' want to be ready for whatever happens to strike their fancy. Got to make a stake before I can tackle th' wolves here in town."

"Yah; I know. Und besser you shouldt practise, efen before you go in der gulches."

"I'm figgerin' to lock myself up in a hotel room an' practise till I can't see th' cards. All right, Professor. What you say I come in to-morrow mornin' early? I just thought of something."

The old man nodded and let him out, following him to the street door, and peered down the street after him. Rubbing his hands, he went back behind the counter, chuckling contentedly. What a panic there would be in town, among a certain class, when Tex Ewalt returned from his tour of the gulches with a stake and his old-time dexterity, to trim the sucker-trimmers!

"Ha-ha-ha! Vot a time dere will be! Ach, Tex, id iss like you come back from der grave. Now I make me dot oudtfit, so careful, so perfect. Like old times id iss, vonce more."

Tex stepped into a bookshop, bought a map or two, and went on to a small and dingy hotel. Here he locked himself in his room and practised at second dealing, false shuffling, location, false cutting, butting the cards, and switching the cut, stopping only to eat. The maps memorized, he burned them.

The following morning, he returned to the pawnshop, examined the gambling layout, smiled a little when he picked up and looked at the small pocket magnifying glass. He flashed an inquiring glance at the old pawn-broker. The glass was one of the common single lens, held in a horn ring, and pivoting into a horn cover.

"Ach, I meant to speak of dot," said the old man, quickly. "Dot shouldt nod be in dere mid dose others. You should carry id your pocket in."

Tex was about to toss it on the counter, but the eager, friendly face beaming at him made him change the direction of his hand and slip the small glass into a pocket, with a wide and comical gesture.

"Great things, these magnifiers," he said, to please the old man. "Never can tell when you'll want one," he added, keeping his face grave, and giving no hint of the laughter within him. He did not know how handy that little glass would be, how it was going to save him from dangerous suspicion; and at the same time let him play a trump card that would have nothing to do with gaming.

"You should nefer be midoudt dot," said the pawn-broker, shaking his head. "It vill show you things quickly on der backs of cards vot might take you too long to find midoudt id." He held out his hands. "Now let me see dose fingers, Tex; let me look vonce at dem."

Tex chuckled and obeyed, smiling as the old head bent over them, and the old hands felt of them. To the pressure of the pawnbroker's testing touch, the thin skin on the tips of Tex's fingers became white and then flashed red as the blood returned.

"Purty goot; purty goot; dey could be besser, aber dey are goot enough." The old man dropped the fingers and smiled, his own hands now busy in repacking the little outfit. "Until I see you again, mine friendt, goot luck." He raised an admonishing, gnarled finger. "See dot you practise efery time dot you get der chance; und then, ven you come back to Denfer—ach, dot vill be a great joke, nein?"

"Th' joke will start before then," said Tex, smiling. "I'll have th' old-time skill long before I see Denver again." He picked up the layout, put it in his valise, shook hands heartily with the old man, and went on his way again, stepping once and for all out of the pawnbroker's life.

Dressed in the most approved make-up of the tin-horn gambler, so friendly and affable that he went out of his way to make the acquaintance of strangers, with a renewed stock of stories and an all-wise smile, he passed by the distant gulches, content to view them at long range from the vantage point of a smoking-car window. Down the valley of the Boiling Spring River, with its bulwarks of rocky peaks on the west, and the high, rolling prairies on the east, finding and leaving and again finding the wide and shallow river and its golden beds of sand and gravel below its high, steep banks; down to the mercurial Arkansas and its generous sandbars, he made his way. A change of cars and he was gone again, steadily climbing higher out of the gentle valley of the larger river. Dry creek beds paralleled the tracks and flirted with the rails, and an occasional hollow roar told of small bridges. The imprisoning hills to the east and west drew steadily nearer to the glistening track, and now there began to appear rocky and broken ridges.

Mile after mile he drew steadily nearer to the still distant territory he had chosen for the most desperate game of all the games in his eventful life. Travelling, he found, cost him nothing; although he was content with modest winnings and honest winnings. Not once was a seal broken on any of the packs of cards at the bottom of the old valise. Suckers he milked gently, if he believed they could afford it, scorning to take advantage of even the slightest trick. It was a maxim of his that honesty was the best policy for a man whose poker-playing ability was as great as his own, and as long as an opponent played honestly the game remained on that basis. Only once did he have to exert himself against a man of his own mettle, and if this affable stranger had been content to play fairly, he would have been much better off. A substituted deck of shaded cards spelled its owner's defeat, for Tex learned them quickly and used them to his own advantage. The outcome of this keen encounter gave Tex a satisfaction greater than the worth-while winnings warranted. He had passed a critical test in a tense four-hour duel with a professional in the game—passed with honours, and was now content. Rendered desperate, the stranger had added crimps, so faint that even he had trouble to distinguish them; and to his disgust had found that the deuces and trays soon bore the same marks. The other players did not lose much, but the professional was nearly stripped.

Changing cars twice, both times for a more disreputable train, Tex at last left trains behind him, sighed with relief, and walked jauntily toward an adobe livery barn. The horse he selected was a showy animal, but well bottomed. Its jet-black coat improved remarkably with attention, and soon fairly shone. Once in the old and comfortable second hand saddle, his modest effects in well-worn saddle bags, a flat and double-barrelled Derringer of heavy calibre in its shoulder holster, he left the little hamlet and rode eastward, cheerily whistling. In the slicker roll behind him was one of his favourite long-barrelled Colts; the other lay along his thigh, covered by the generous skirt of his black frock coat. Before him, although many miles away, were the Snake Buttes with their nest of human snakes; halfway was the domicile, in a little border town, of an old acquaintance of his predatory days. Should he find that acquaintance alive and at home, he had no doubt about the value of the information he would obtain. Toward them both rode Tex Ewalt, one hundred seventy pounds of dynamite clothed in a plain frock coat and gaudy vest; as wise and cold and unemotional as his class is supposed to be; cruel and direct and unwavering, as behove an expert two-gun man, and as merciless as both.

His riding and camping had no particular interest for any one but himself, and we will pass it by, being content to enter the little town of Ojos Verdes with him, and ride along its main and ugly street. A few dry-farmers were scattered about this hamlet, there were modest but questionable cattle outfits in the hills, and a number of prospectors made the town their spending and outfitting centre.

Straight for the largest and the only frame building in town rode Tex, and when he entered this temple of chance, he passed straight toward a table in a far corner, where a lean, tall man half dozed in lazy reflection.

"Howdy, Ben," said the newcomer, drawing back a chair and sinking into it.

Ben looked at him for a moment, and recognition slowly dawned. He sat erect and grudgingly shoved out a soft white hand.

"Tex Ewalt, by all that's holy!"

"Th' same," admitted Tex, smiling. "I'm lookin' for suckers, Ben; but mostly I'm lookin' for th' best way to get through th' buttes country east of here. Thought you might be able to tell me somethin' about it."

"I been close-herdin' th' few suckers hereabouts," said Ben, experimentally. "You driftin' back to yore old stampin' ground?"

"I don't aim to bother you a-tall," said Tex, reassuringly. "Yes, Ben; I'm driftin' back."

"I heard that you'd reformed," said Ben, watching closely through narrowed lids. "Heard you quit th' life."

Tex laughed, leaned back, and shoved his legs out in front of him.

"It's a purty good play, Ben; 'specially after a feller gets too well known. I was near starvin', for awhile. Every time I drifted near a card table th' silence became cold an' oppressive. Everybody seemed to know me. I had to do somethin', so I reformed. When th' crop got ripe I picked it clean, an' moved on a couple hundred miles to reform ag'in. That was slow work, Ben; you just can't reckon how suspicious folks are. There ain't no money in cards for me, no more, an' I'm gettin' tired of 'em. I used to know some fellers, back where I come from, that made out real well with cattle. If they ain't been killed off, jailed, or scattered, I aim to look 'em up." He smiled innocently. "Th' sooner I get on my way ag'in, th' better I'll like it. I ain't none too well heeled."

Ben did not like to hear poverty spoken of, and poverty coupled to a man like Tex Ewalt hurt him to the quick. The small population in and around Ojos Verdes supported him well enough, since his wants were modest; but it would not support himself and a gambler like the man he now faced. In fact, it was possible that he might have to go to work, if this man remained. There was something else: he had never forgotten or forgiven a certain game in which Tex Ewalt had stripped him to his hat and clothes. Tex was going to ride through the Snake Buttes country, and in the buttes was Nevada's gang. Ben had suffered, quite recently, from this gang, and had found himself stripped again to his hat and clothes. This time it had been done at the muzzle of a gun, and his anger still burned.

"That country has been gettin' civilized right fast th' last half dozen years," he said. "Th' cattlemen are workin' together, fences have gone up, trails have been closed, brands are checked, an' th' country is full of farmers. You feel that you got to go back there?"

"No-o—reckon not," said Tex slowly, his face expressing poorly hidden disappointment. "I figgered on it because I didn't know nothin' better. Got all out of touch with th' Southwest. I'm sorta lost, Ben, an' I don't want to open up no game here."

Ben nodded and smiled.

"I reckoned you was out of touch, speakin' so hopeful that way about th' old ranges." He was studying the calm and friendly face across the table from him, studying it intently. "Feel like gamblin', with cattle, for big stakes?" he asked.

"You forget what I said?"

"No; but I don't know just how far you want to go. Th' game I'm thinkin' about is mighty dangerous, two ways. You used to have plenty of nerve. Have you still got it?"

As Tex considered this question, he stiffened and his eyes grew hard. He looked his companion squarely in the face until that person became a little uncomfortable.

"I reckon I still got enough for anythin' you can think of. What you drivin' at?"

Ben slowly raised his lanky length from the chair and revealed the reason why men called him Long Ben.

"Come in that room with me, where we can talk plain' an' not be bothered by any fool that might come in. I'm aimin' to put you on to somethin' good, but cussed risky. You say yore nerve's good enough: all right. If I do put you on to a good game, I want to hear you tell me that you'll keep yore hands off th' cards in this town, now an' for ever. Is it a bargain?"

Tex maintained his poker face. He had not forgotten that Ben had threatened to get even for that defeat at cards, and his mind was racing along a chain of thought that pleased him. Was it possible that Long Ben was counting on letting the Snake Buttes gang square the score for him? Was his luck going to hold out to the very end? He arose, slowly nodding.

"I'll promise you that right now, Ben, no matter what you got to tell me; an' I'm shore honin' to listen to you."

Side by side, they walked toward the rear room, Ben stopping at the door to let his companion enter first. Hiding his exultation, he looked back at the bartender, raised a hand in a well-known signal, and then stepped inside the little room, closing the door behind him. For an hour or more, the indistinct murmur of low voices caused the bartender to glance at that room from time to time, and to take care that no customer loitered near it. His responsibility ceased when the two men stepped into sight again and headed toward his counter.

"What'll you have, Ben?" asked Tex, his face a blank. "Good enough. Give me th' same, bartender. Well, Ben, I'm glad I looked you up. Here's luck!"

"Luck," echoed Long Ben, his expression as blank as his companion's. "You'll mebby need it." He cleared his throat, set the empty glass down on the bar, and pushed the bottle toward his companion. "One more, anyhow, to double-rivet that luck.... Ah! Not so bad for this part of th' country, is it?"

"Right good likker," said Tex. "Have another? No? All right, then. Mebby you can tell me where I can find th' best bed for to-night?"

Long Ben could, and did; and in his room that night Tex continued his intensive practising, and then went over his guns for the last time, carefully, painstakingly; and he found that his wife's contribution of heavy flannels made excellent gun rags. It pleased him to learn that he could make good use of them, and he kept a generous piece for future cleaning. After that, he went to bed and slept the deep and untroubled sleep of the young and righteous.