lots of
fun--but, a man's got to pay for his fun--more ways than one, he's got
to pay. If it'll make her happy to not drink, an' onhappy to drink--the
way I look at it, it's a damned mean man that would pay for his own
belly-wash with his wife's happiness! That about concludes the takin'
stock, then: Drinkin'--once! Drinkin'--twice! Drinkin'--three times--an'
_out_! I'm a non-drinker, a teetotaller, a pop-lapper, an' a grape-juice
swizzler! At that, if I'd known that last drink I had back there in
Timber City was goin' to be the very last doggone drink I was ever goin'
to get, I'd kind of strung it along a little--sort of sipped it slow an'
solemn as become an obsequy. Instead of which, I tossed it off
light-hearted, casual, even what you might call flippant--an' it's the
last drink I was ever goin' to have!"

He rose, brushed a stray crumb or two from his shirt, and mounted: "Come
on, Blue, let's get this stuff over with, an' wash our hands, an' hit
for Red Sand. Cass says Cinnabar Joe's place ain't only about four miles
above McWhorter's."

Thirty minutes later the Texan slowed his horse to a walk.
Rock-fragments appeared, dotting the surface of ridges and coulees.
Small at first, these fragments increased in size and number as the man
pushed northward. He knew from Cass Grimshaw's description that he was
approaching the rendezvous of Purdy and his gang. Far ahead he could see
the upstanding walls of rock that marked the entrance to the gorge or
crater which marked the spot where some titanic explosion of nature had
shattered a mountain--shattered it, and scattered its fragments over the
surrounding plain. But the Texan was not thinking of the shattered
mountain, nor of the girl on Red Sand. He hitched his belt, glanced at
the revolver in its holster, and slipping his hand beneath his shirt,
made sure that Long Bill's six-gun lay ready to his hand. He proceeded
slowly, pausing at frequent intervals to scan the rock-dotted plain. The
mouth of the gorge showed distinctly, now. He pulled up his horse and
studied the ground. He decided to dismount and proceed on foot--to work
his way from rock-fragment to rock-fragment. A slight sound caused him
to glance swiftly to the left. Not fifty feet away the malevolent face
of Purdy stared at him above the barrels of two six-guns. Directly
before him he saw another man, and to the right two more. And every man
had him covered. His eyes returned to Purdy, and his lips twisted into