a man from a seam-squirrel, I'd
sure say Dug's got more savee in his whiskers than you got dirt--which
is some. If I got things right, this night's sittin's goin' to put
paid to the Lightfoot gang's account. I'd be glad to say the same of
one or two scores three bums have lately run up right here."

The offensiveness of his manner left the men quite undisturbed. The
place would have been strange to them without it. They accepted it as
part of the evening's entertainment. But the allusion to the Vigilance
Committee's efforts brought them into attitudes of close attention. It
drew the attention, too, of the cattleman with the refined features,
and, equally, that of the tough-looking individual at the far end of
the bar.

"What are they goin' to do?" demanded Dan urgently.

Ju puffed aggravatingly at his cigar.

"Do?" he echoed at last, gazing distantly at the card players across
the room. "Why, what any bunch of savee should ha' done five years
ago. Put out a great reward."

Curly snorted in disdain.

"See, I tho't it was to be a big play."

"You allus was bright," sneered Dan. "How's that goin' to fix the
Lightfoot crowd?"

"How?" Ju's contempt always found an outlet in the echo of an
opponent's interrogation. "Say, Dan, how old are you? Twenty?"

"That ain't nuthin' to you," the cowpuncher retorted, with a gesture of
hot impatience.

"Ain't it? Wal, mebbe it ain't," Ju agreed imperturbably. "But y'see
it takes years an' years gettin' the value o' dollars right. I allow
ther's folks guesses dollars talks. Wal, I'm guessin' they just
_holler_. Make the wad big enough and ther' ain't nuthin' you can't
buy from a wheat binder to a royal princess with a crown o' jools. The
only thing you're li'ble to have trouble over is the things Natur'
fancies handin' you fer--nix. That an' hoss sense. That's pretty well
the world to-day, no matter what the sky-pilots an' Sunday-school
ma'ams dope out in their fancy literature. I know. You offer ten
thousand dollars for the hangin' of Lightfoot's gang, an', I say right
here, there ain't a feller in it from Lightfoot--if there is sech a
feller--down, who wouldn't make a grab at that wad by givin' the rest
of the crowd away. Makes you think, don't it? Sort o' worries them
empty think tanks o' yours."

But Ju's satisfaction received an unexpected shaking.

"Some wind," observed the slim, lonely drinker, in the blandest fashion.

Ju was round on him in