bed in play, and so made no retort. Whereat Glover,
with a reflective light in his eyes, continued:

"I've seen something myself," he went on, evidently mindful of Johnson's
observation. "I've seen better men than Injuns stampede on less than
rattlesnakes--and cover a heap more ground in a lot less shorter time.
What I'm talkin' about is skunks," he explained, to nobody in
particular--"hydrophoby skunks--their bite. Why," he continued, warming
to his subject and seemingly ignorant of its myths, "I once seen a man
ride into San Mercial with his face that white it wouldn't 'a' showed a
chalk mark! And he was holdin' up his thumb like it was pizen--which it
was! And he was cuttin' for old Doc Struthers that fast his cayuse was
sparkin' out of his ears. Bit by a hydrophoby skunk--yes, sirree. Got to
the Doc's just in time, too! But he allus was lucky--the Doc! Money jest
rolled into that party all the time. But some folks don't jest quite
make it--horses gives out, or something. And if they ain't got the sand
to shoot the finger off--"

A sudden shadow across the window checked him. He quietly reached for
his gun. Also, Johnson lifted quick eyes to the window. And now Jim
turned his head. Directly Glover rose to his feet; Johnson got up off
his stool; Jim flung to the door. A moment they stood tense. Then Jim
moved cautiously to the window. He gazed outside. As he did so his
features relaxed. Presently he returned to the table.

"That horse," he explained, eyes twinkling.

The others returned to their places. All were visibly relieved. But
Glover did not go on with his yarn. Lighting his pipe again, he fell to
smoking in thoughtful silence.

Jim picked up his cards. He saw four kings. But he felt no elation.
Before him was a mere dribble of chips, and he knew that he could not
hold out much longer. Johnson was coldly surveying his own cards, and
after a studied moment opened the pot. Jim thrust forward half his small
stack, followed by Johnson with a raise, whereupon Jim placed all he had
upon the board. That closed the game. The other spread out his cards
generously, and Jim, glancing listlessly at four aces, rose from the
table. Turning to the window, he saw Pat still lingering near the shack.
He gazed at him a long moment in silence.

"He's yours," he said, finally, facing Johnson. "Reckon I'll go outside
for a little air."

Outside, he made straight for Pat, removed the hobbles, led him into the
grove. As the ho