face, his eyes staring wildly into
the faces of the crowd.

But Annixter, bursting with pride, his chest thrown out, his chin in
the air, reigned enthroned in a circle of adulation. He was the Hero. To
shake him by the hand was an honour to be struggled for. One clapped
him on the back with solemn nods of approval. "There's the BOY for you;"
"There was nerve for you;" "What's the matter with Annixter?" "How about
THAT for sand, and how was THAT for a SHOT?" "Why, Apache Kid couldn't
have bettered that." "Cool enough." "Took a steady eye and a sure hand
to make a shot like that." "There was a shot that would be told about in
Tulare County fifty years to come."

Annixter had refrained from replying, all ears to this conversation,
wondering just what had happened. He knew only that Delaney had run,
leaving his revolver and a spatter of blood behind him. By degrees,
however, he ascertained that his last shot but one had struck Delaney's
pistol hand, shattering it and knocking the revolver from his grip. He
was overwhelmed with astonishment. Why, after the shooting began he
had not so much as seen Delaney with any degree of plainness. The whole
affair was a whirl.

"Well, where did YOU learn to shoot THAT way?" some one in the crowd
demanded. Annixter moved his shoulders with a gesture of vast unconcern.

"Oh," he observed carelessly, "it's not my SHOOTING that ever worried
ME, m'son."

The crowd gaped with delight. There was a great wagging of heads.

"Well, I guess not."

"No, sir, not much."

"Ah, no, you bet not."

When the women pressed around him, shaking his hands, declaring that
he had saved their daughters' lives, Annixter assumed a pose of superb
deprecation, the modest self-obliteration of the chevalier. He delivered
himself of a remembered phrase, very elegant, refined. It was Lancelot
after the tournament, Bayard receiving felicitations after the battle.

"Oh, don't say anything about it," he murmured. "I only did what any man
would have done in my place."

To restore completely the equanimity of the company, he announced
supper. This he had calculated as a tremendous surprise. It was to have
been served at mid-night, but the irruption of Delaney had dislocated
the order of events, and the tables were brought in an hour ahead of
time. They were arranged around three sides of the barn and were loaded
down with cold roasts of beef, cold chickens and cold ducks, mountains
of sandwiches, pitchers of mi