gers in need of liquid sustenance paid
visits to the saloons. They got exactly what the transient may expect
in any country.

Henry Ashbaugh sat at a table in Martin Dugan's place and eyed the
bartender truculently. He had purchased nothing, for the most
excellent of reasons, but he had patronised the free lunch
extensively.

"You don't need to look at me like that," said Henry when the silence
became unbearable. "I'm waiting for a friend and when he comes he'll
buy."

At this critical juncture the swinging doors opened to admit the
friend, a tall, elderly man with a patriarchal white beard, clad in a
battered black slouch hat and a venerable frock coat. Ashbaugh jumped
up with a yell.

"Well, you old son of a gun! It's good for sore eyes to see you! How
long has it been, eh?"

"Quite some years," answered Old Man Curry, allowing himself to be
guided to the bar. "And how's the world been usin' you, Henry?"

"It's been using me rough, awful rough," replied Ashbaugh. "I ain't
even got the price of a drink."

Curry laid a silver coin upon the bar.

"Have one with me," said he.

"Don't mind if I do," said Ashbaugh, and poured out a stiff libation
of water-front whisky. Old Man Curry took water, and the wise
bartender, after one look at the stranger, drew it from a faucet.

"How!" said Henry, tilting the poison into his system.

"My regards!" said Old Man Curry, sipping his water slowly.

"Same old bird!" ejaculated Ashbaugh, clapping Curry on the back.
"Solomon on the brain! Speaking of birds, though, did you ever see
one that could fly with only one wing?"

"I never did," was the grave response. "Have another?"

"If you force me," said Ashbaugh, pouring out a second heavy dose.
Old Man Curry took more water. Ashbaugh gulped once and passed the
back of his hand over his lips.

"We have talked of birds," said he, wheedlingly. "Leave us now talk
of centipedes."

"No," said Curry quietly. "No, I reckon not, Henry. There's something
else to talk about. You got my telegram?"

"This afternoon," said Ashbaugh with a lingering glance at the
bottle. "That's why I'm here."

"You've still got your place out on the Martinez road?" asked Old Man
Curry.

"I can't get rid of it," was the answer.

"I'd like to take a hoss down there and put him up for a few weeks,
Henry."

"The place is all yours!" said Ashbaugh with wide gestures. "All
yours! A friend of mine can have anything I've got, and no questions
aske