ain.

Pan had no response. Memory of the Cimarron only guided his flying
mind over the ranges to Las Animas. They drank and drank. Blinky's
tongue grew looser.

"Hold your tongue, damn you," said Pan.

"Imposshiblity. Lesh have another."

"One more then. You're drunk, cowboy."

"Me drunk? No shir, pard. I'm just tongue-tied.... Now, by Gawd,
heah's to Louise Melliss!"

"I drink to that," flashed Pan, as he drained his glass.

The afternoon had waned. Matthews lay dead in the street. He lay in
front of the Yellow Mine, from which he had been driven by men who
would no longer stand the strain.

The street was deserted except for that black figure, lying face down
with a gun in his right hand. His black sombrero lay flat. The wind
had blown a high hat down the street until it had stopped near the
sombrero. Those who peeped out from behind doors or from windows
espied these sinister objects.

Pan had patrolled the street. He had made a house-to-house canvass,
searching for Jim Blake. He had entered every place except the Yellow
Mine. That he reserved for the last. But he did not find Blake. He
encountered, however, a slight pale man in clerical garb.

"Are you the parson Matthews brought to Marco?" demanded Pan harshly.

"Yes, Sir," came the reply.

"Did you marry young Hardman to--to--" Pan could not end the query.

The minister likewise found speech difficult, but his affirmative was
not necessary.

"Man, you may be innocent of evil intent. But you've ruined my--girl
... and me! You've sent me to hell. I ought to kill you."

"Pard, shore we mushn't kill thish heah parson just yet," drawled
Blinky, thickly. "He'll come in handy."

"Ahuh! Right you are, Blinky," returned Pan, with a ghastly pretense
of gaiety. "Parson, stay right here till we come for you.--Maybe you
make up a little for the wrong you did one girl."

The Yellow Mine stood with glass uplifted and card unplayed.

Pan had entered from the dance hall entrance. Blinky, unsteady on his
feet, came in from the street. After a tense moment the poker players
went on with their game, and the drinkers emptied their glasses. But
voices were low, glances were furtive.

Pan had seen every man there before he had been seen himself. Only one
interested him--that was Jim Blake. What to do to this man or with him
Pan found it hard to decide. Blake had indeed fallen low. But Pan
gave him the benefit of one doubt--that h