orings. Then with a sudden
thunder on the tin roof the flood came down, and Black Tex set up the
drinks.

It was a tall cowman just down from the Peaks who ordered the round,
and so all-embracing was his good humor that he bid every one in the
room drink with him, even a sheepman. Broad-faced and huge, with four
months' growth of hair and a thirst of the same duration, he stood at
the end of the bar, smiling radiantly, one sun-blackened hand toying
with the empty glass.

"Come up, fellers," he said, waving the other in invitation, "and
drink to Arizona. With a little more rain and good society she'd be a
holy wonder, as the Texas land boomer says down in hell." They came up
willingly, cowpunchers and sheepmen, train hands, prospectors, and the
saloon bums that Black Tex kept about to blow such ready spenders as
he, whenever they came to town. With a practised jolt of the bottle
Tex passed down the line, filling each heavy tumbler to the brim; he
poured a thin one for himself and beckoned in his roustabout to swell
the count--but still there was an empty glass. There was one man over
in the corner who had declined to drink. He sat at a disused card
table studiously thumbing over an old magazine, and as he raised his
dram the barkeeper glowered at him intolerantly.

"Well," said the big cowboy, reaching for his liquor, "here's how--and
may she rain for a week!" He shoved back his high black sombrero as he
spoke, but before he signalled the toast his eye caught the sidelong
glance of Black Tex, and he too noticed the little man in the corner.

"What's the matter?" he inquired, leaning over toward Tex and jerking
his thumb dubiously at the corner, and as the barkeeper scowled and
shrugged his shoulders he set down his glass and stared.

The stranger was a small man, for Arizona, and his delicate hands were
almost as white as a woman's; but the lines in his face were graven
deep, without effeminacy, and his slender neck was muscled like a
wrestler's. In dress he was not unlike the men about him--Texas boots,
a broad sombrero, and a canvas coat to turn the rain,--but his manner
was that of another world, a sombre, scholarly repose such as you
would look for in the reference room of the Boston Public Library; and
he crouched back in his corner like a shy, retiring mouse. For a
moment the cowman regarded him intently, as if seeking for some
exculpating infirmity; then, leaving the long line of drinkers to
chafe at the del