he
members of the crowd.

It was the stranger who broke the silence: "Two bits I bid--two bits,"
he said, very quietly, whereat the crowd indulged in a faint snicker and
a few nudges.

The marshal looked at him and then ignored him. "How much, gentlemen?"
he asked, facing the crowd again.

"Two bits," repeated the stranger, as the crowd remained silent.

"Two bits!" yelled the marshal, glaring at him angrily: "_Two bits!_
Why, the _look_ in this cayuse's eyes is worth four! Look at the spirit
in them eyes, look at the intelligence! The saddle alone is worth a
clean forty dollars of any man's money. I am out here to sell this
animal to the highest bidder; the sale's begun, an' I want bids, not
jokes. Now, who'll start it off?" he demanded, glancing around; but no
one had anything to say except the terse stranger, who appeared to be
getting irritated.

"You've got a starter--I've given you a bid. I bid two bits--t-w-o
b-i-t-s, twenty-five cents. Now go ahead with yore auction."

The marshal thought he saw an attempt at humor, and since he was feeling
quite happy, and since he knew that good humor is conducive to good
bidding, he smiled, all the time, however, racking his memory for the
name of the humorist. So he accepted the bid: "All right, this gentleman
bids two bits. Two bits I am bid--two bits. Twenty-five cents. Who'll
make it twenty-five dollars? Two bits--who says twenty-five dollars? Ah,
did _you_ say twenty-five dollars?" he snapped, leveling an accusing and
threatening fore-finger at the man nearest him, who squirmed restlessly
and glanced at the stranger. "_Did you say twenty-five dollars?_" he
shouted.

The stranger came to the rescue. "He did not. He hasn't opened his
mouth. But _I_ said twenty-five _cents_," quietly observed the humorist.

"Who'll gimme thirty? Who'll gimme thirty dollars? Did I hear thirty
dollars? Did I hear twenty-five dollars bid? Who said thirty dollars?
Did _you_ say twenty-five dollars?"

"How could he when he was talking politics to the man behind him?" asked
the stranger. "I said two bits," he added complacently, as he watched
the auctioneer closely.

"I want twenty-five dollars--an' you shut yore blasted mouth!" snapped
the marshal at the persistent twenty-five-cent man. He did not see
the fire smouldering in the squinting eyes so alertly watching him.
"Twenty-five dollars--not a cent less takes the cayuse. Why, gentlemen,
he's worth twenty in _cans_! Gimme twenty-fi