runken man, and his fingers were clutching
nervously at the moulded edge of the bar. Rocket came back and handed
him and Abe their whiskey. The former promptly clutched his glass and
raised it aloft, spilling the neat spirit as he did so. Then, with
drunken solemnity, he called for order.

"Boys," he cried, "you'll--you'll drink a to--toast. Sure you will.
Every one of you'll drink it. My fu--sher wife, Eve--Eve Marsham. Jim
Th--Thorpe thought he'd best--me, but----"

A table was suddenly sent flying in the crowd. A man's figure leaped
out from behind the stove and rushed up to the speaker. It was Jim
Thorpe. His eyes were blazing, and a demon of fury glared out upon the
drunken man.

"Another word, and I'll shoot you like a dog! You liar! You
thieving----!"

But his sentence was never completed. Peter Blunt stood between them,
one of his great hands gripping Jim's arm like a vice.

"Shut up!" he cried, in a hoarse whisper. "You'll have the whole story
all over the village."

But the mischief was done. Everybody present was on their feet agog
with excitement, and came gathering round to see the only possible
finish to the scene, as they understood it. But, quick as lightning,
Peter took in the situation. Flinging Jim aside as though he were a
baby, he hugged the drunken Will Henderson in his two great arms, and
carried him bodily out of the saloon.

The men looked after him wondering. Then some one laughed. It was an
odd, dissatisfied laugh, but it had the effect of relieving the
tension. And one by one they turned back to Jim, who was standing
moodily leaning on the bar; his right hand was still resting on the
gun on his hip.

There was a moment of suspense. Then Jim's hand left the gun, and he
straightened himself up. He tried to smile, but the attempt was a
failure.

"I'm sorry for upsetting your game, boys," he said stupidly.

Then Rocket came effectively to the rescue.

"Gents," he cried, "you'll all honor me by drinkin' with the house."

CHAPTER IX

A WOMAN'S CARE

"He's right now, Eve, dear--right _as_ right. He'll sleep till
morning, and then he'll wake up, an'--an' forget about being ill."

It was not so much the words as the tone that brought comfort to Eve.
She was leaning over her brother's bed watching the beautiful face, so
waxen now, and listening to his heavy breathing, which was steadily
moderating to a normal ease. The boy was sleeping the result of a dose
administered to h