yself, and
now I've got to send--him--with word of my orders as to 'Tonio."

"Send him--word?" she faltered. "Do you mean----"

"Certainly, dear. Who should go--but Willett?"

CHAPTER XX.

It was then lacking nearly an hour of tattoo. Already the arriving
couriers, their mission executed, their wearied horses turned over to
willing hands at stables, their hunger appeased at the troop kitchen,
and the pent-up hankering for beer still unassuaged, were "filling up"
at the expense of their fellows at the store, and wistfully looking on
at the game.

Munoz, the ever-ready; Dago, the still demoralized, and one or two of
their burro-bred community, were settled at monte, Dago and Munoz eying
each other like gladiators, and already a table had started at stud
poker, that might readily develop into "draw." The barkeeper was a busy
man, and had been given the tip to keep sober or lose the last hold he
had on his job. The bookkeeper had for a few days past moved in silence
about the premises, avoiding the common room as he would a lazaretto,
avoiding even his kind. For most of the week he had been utterly unlike
himself--strange, nervous, restless, starting at sudden sounds, abrupt
in speech and manner, occasionally springing to the door and stepping
forth into the sunlight, wandering about with hanging head and hands in
pocket, coming back and slamming into his seat as though at odds with
all creation, striving desperately to concentrate his thoughts on the
columns of figures, and failing wretchedly. "Case is all broke up,"
said Craney, "and damned if I know why. Last week he was the most
popular man in Yavapai, or all Arizona for that matter." What Craney
and his partner mortally feared was that Case would take to drinking
again, with pay-day close at hand--the time of all others Case had
never yet failed them, the time of all others when breach of faith
could mean nothing short of breach of all business relations. But up to
nine P.M. this night of prospective relaxation Case had been a stalwart.
The test was yet to come.

It was still half an hour of tattoo when old Bucketts came into
Bentley's quarters and found that skilled practitioner replacing the
bandages and sling on his patient's shoulder. The tidings brought by
the couriers and given out by Archer had long since been digested.
Bucketts had something new. "Doc," said he, "if you have anything to
say or send to Stannard, now's your chance."

"Don't call