d! It's--Bud!"

"'S right, Kid!" nodded Soapy imperturbably, hands in pockets and,
though his voice sounded listless as ever, his eyes gleamed evilly,
and the dangling cigarette quivered and stirred.

"Ain't--dead, is he?" some one questioned.

"Dead--not much!" answered Soapy, "guess it's goin' to take more 'n that
t' make Bud a stiff 'un. Besides, Bud ain't goin' t' die that way, no,
not--that way, I reckon. Dead? Watch this!" So saying, he reached
Spike's half-emptied glass from the bar and, not troubling to stoop,
poured the raw spirit down upon M'Ginnis's pale, blood-smirched face.

"Dead?" said Soapy. "Well, I guess not--look at him!"

And, sure enough, M'Ginnis stirred, groaned, opened swollen eyelids and,
aided by some ready arm, sat up feebly. Then he glanced up at the ring
of peering faces and down upon his rent and dusty person, and fell to a
sudden, fierce torrent of curses; cursing thus, his strength seemed to
return all at once, for he sprang to his feet and with clenched fists
drove through the crowd, and lifting a flap in the bar, opened a door
beyond and was gone.

"No," said Soapy, shaking his head, "I guess Bud ain't dead--yet,
fellers. I wonder who gave him that eye, Kid? An' his mouth too! Did ye
pipe them split lips! Kind o' painful, I guess. An' a couple o' teeth
knocked out too! Some punchin', Kid! An' Bud kind o' fancied them nice,
white teeth of his a whole heap!"

Here the bartender glanced toward the corner where they stood, and,
lifting an eyebrow, jerked his thumb at the door behind him with the
words: "Kid, I reckon Bud wants ye."

For a moment Spike hesitated then, lifting the mahogany flap, crossed
the bar, and opened the door.

"Guess I'll come along, Kid," and, hands in pockets, Soapy followed.

They found M'Ginnis sprawling at a table and scowling at the knuckles of
his bruised right hand while at his elbow were a bottle and two glasses.
He had washed the blood and dirt from him, had brushed and straightened
his dusty garments, but he couldn't hide the cuts and bruises that
disfigured his face, nor his scratched and swollen throat.

"What you here for?" he demanded, as Soapy closed the door, "didn't send
for you, did I?"

"No, that's why I come, Bud."

"But, say, Bud, what--what's been th' matter?" stammered Spike, his gaze
upon M'Ginnis's battered face, "who's been--"

"Matter? Nothin'! I had a bit of a rough-house as I come along--"

"'S right," nodded Soapy, "you