might have been half-past six when commotions began to go on
outside in the street. We heard a yelling and a six-shootering, and
a lot of galloping and manoeuvres.

"'What's that?' I wonders.

"'Oh, some nonsense outside,' says Perry. 'It's your move. We just
got time to play this game.'

"'I'll just take a peep through the window,' says I, 'and see. You
can't expect a mere mortal to stand the excitement of having a king
jumped and listen to an unidentified conflict going on at the same
time.'

"The Gray Mule saloon was one of them old Spanish 'dobe buildings,
and the back room only had two little windows a foot wide, with iron
bars in 'em. I looked out one, and I see the cause of the rucus.

"There was the Trimble gang--ten of 'em--the worst outfit of
desperadoes and horse-thieves in Texas, coming up the street
shooting right and left. They was coming right straight for the Gray
Mule. Then they got past the range of my sight, but we heard 'em
ride up to the front door, and then they socked the place full of
lead. We heard the big looking-glass behind the bar knocked all to
pieces and the bottles crashing. We could see Gotch-eared Mike in
his apron running across the plaza like a coyote, with the bullets
puffing up dust all around him. Then the gang went to work in the
saloon, drinking what they wanted and smashing what they didn't.

"Me and Petty both knew that gang, and they knew us. The year before
Perry married, him and me was in the same ranger company--and we
fought that outfit down on the San Miguel, and brought back Ben
Trimble and two others for murder.

"'We can't get out,' says I. 'We'll have to stay in here till they
leave.'

"Perry looked at his watch.

"'Twenty-five to seven,' says he. 'We can finish that game. I got
two men on you. It's your move, Buck. I got to be home at seven, you
know.'

"We sat down and went on playing. The Trimble gang had a roughhouse
for sure. They were getting good and drunk. They'd drink a while and
holler a while, and then they'd shoot up a few bottles and glasses.
Two or three times they came and tried to open our door. Then there
was some more shooting outside, and I looked out the window again.
Ham Gossett, the town marshal, had a posse in the houses and stores
across the street, and was trying to bag a Trimble or two through
the windows.

"I lost that game of checkers. I'm free in saying that I lost three
kings that I might have saved if I had been corralled