ity of the "gents" preferred to aim
at various knotholes in the floor and bet on the result, chancing the
outpouring of the proprietor's wrath if they missed.

On the wall behind the bar was a smaller and neater request: "Leave your
guns with the bartender.--Edwards." This, although a month old, still
called forth caustic and profane remarks from the regular frequenters of
the saloon, for hitherto restraint in the matter of carrying weapons
had been unknown. They forthwith evaded the order in a manner consistent
with their characteristics--by carrying smaller guns where they could
not be seen. The majority had simply sawed off a generous part of the
long barrels of their Colts and Remingtons, which did not improve their
accuracy.

Edwards, the new marshal of Perry's Bend, had come direct from Kansas
and his reputation as a fighter had preceded him. When he took up his
first day's work he was kept busy proving that he was the rightful owner
of it and that it had not been exaggerated in any manner or degree.
With the exception of one instance the proof had been bloodless, for he
reasoned that gun-play should give way, whenever possible, to a crushing
"right" or "left" to the point of the jaw or the pit of the stomach.
His proficiency in the manly art was polished and thorough and bespoke
earnest application. The last doubting Thomas to be convinced came to
five minutes after his diaphragm had been rudely and suddenly raised
several inches by a low right hook, and as he groped for his bearings
and got his wind back again he asked, very feebly, where "Kansas" was;
and the name stuck.

When Harlan heard the nickname for the first time he stopped pulling the
cork out of a whiskey bottle long enough to remark, casually, "I allus
reckoned Kansas was purty close to hell," and said no more about it.
Harlan was the proprietor and bartender of the Oasis and catered to the
excessive and uncritical thirsts of the ruck of range society, and he
had objected vigorously to the placing of the second sign in his place
of business; but at the close of an incisive if inelegant reply from the
marshal, the sign went up, and stayed up. Edwards' language and delivery
were as convincing as his fists.

The marshal did not like the Oasis; indeed, he went further and
cordially hated it. Harlan's saloon was a thorn in his side and he was
only waiting for a good excuse to wipe it off the local map. He was the
Law, and behind him were the range rid