that--and it would only make him madder than ever. But
I'll get out of his way and keep out of his way. I'll go up to the
Jornado to-night and stay with the Bar Cross boys awhile. He won't
come up there."

"You'll enjoy having people tellin' how you run away to keep from
meeting Dick Marr?" said Applegate incredulously.

"Why shouldn't they say it? It will be exactly true," responded Foy
quietly, "and you're authorized to say so. I'm learning some sense
now; I'm getting to own quite a mess of property; I'm going to be
married soon; and I don't want to fight anyone. Besides, quite apart
from my own interests, other men will be drawn into it if I shoot it
out with Marr. No knowing where it will stop. No, sir; I'll go punch
cows till Marr quiets down. Maybe it's just the whisky talking. Dick
isn't such a bad fellow when he's not fighting booze. Or maybe he'll
go away. He hasn't much to keep him here."

"Say, I could get a job offered to him out in San Simon," said
Applegate, brightening.

His eye rested on the clock over the long mirror. He stepped over to
the show case, clipped the end from a cigar and obtained a light from
a shapely bronze lady with a torch. When he came back he fell in on
Foy's left; at Foy's right Creagan leaned his elbows on the bar.

"Well, I'm obliged to you, boys," said Foy. "This one's on me. Come
on, Joe--have a hoot."

"Thanks, no," said Espalin. "I not dreenkin' none thees times. Eef I
dreenk some I get full, and loose my job maybe."

"Vichy," said Foy. "Take something yourself, Max."

As Mr. Max poured the drinks an odd experience befell Mr. Jose
Espalin. His tilted chair leaned against the casing of the
billiard-room door. As Max filled the first glass Espalin became
suddenly aware of something round and hard and cold pressed against
his right temple. Mr. Espalin felt some curiosity, but he sat
perfectly still. The object shifted a few inches; Mr. Espalin
perceived from the tail of his eye the large, unfeeling muzzle of a
sixshooter; beyond it, a glimpse of the forgotten elderly stranger,
Mr. Pringle.

Only Mr. Pringle's fighting face appeared, and that but for a moment;
he laid a finger to lip and crouched, hidden by the partition and by
Espalin's body. Mr. Espalin gathered that Pringle desired no outcry
and shunned observation; he sat motionless accordingly; he felt a hand
at his belt, which removed his gun.

"Happy days!" said Foy, and raised his glass to his lips.

Creagan