u certainly stay with the bad bronchs to a fare-you-well. If I'd been
judge you'd a-had first place, Mr. Flandrau."

"Much obliged. And now you've identified me sufficient, how about that
ticket?"

"I was coming to that. Sure you can get a ticket. Good on any train.
You're so darned active, maybe you could get off Number 4 when she is
fogging along sixty miles per. But most folks couldn't, not with any
comfort."

"Meaning that the Flyer doesn't stop?"

"Not at Tin Cup."

"Have to take the afternoon train then?"

"I reckon." He punched a ticket and shoved it through the window toward
Curly. "Sixty-five cents, please."

Flandrau paid for and pocketed the ticket he did not intend to use. He had
found out what he wanted to know. The express did not stop at Tin Cup.
Why, then, had Soapy marked the time of its arrival there? He was
beginning to guess the reason. But he would have to do more than guess.

Curly walked back to the business section from the depot. Already the town
was gay with banners in preparation for the Fourth. On the program were
broncho-busting, roping, Indian dances, races, and other frontier events.
Already visitors were gathering for the festivities. Saguache, wide open
for the occasion, was already brisk with an assorted population of many
races. Mexicans, Chinese, Indians of various tribes brushed shoulders with
miners, tourists and cattlemen. Inside the saloons faro, chuckaluck and
roulette attracted each its devotees.

Flandrau sauntered back to the hotel on the lookout for Sam. He was not
there, but waiting for him was a boy with a note for the gentleman in
Number 311.

"Kid looking for you," the clerk called to the cowpuncher.

"Are you Mr. Soapy Stone's friend, the one just down from Dead Cow creek?"
asked the boy.

Taken as a whole, the answer was open to debate. But Curly nodded and took
the note.

This was what he read:

Sam, come to Chalkeye's place soon as you get this. There we will
talk over the business.

You Know Who.

Though he did not know who, Curly thought he could give a pretty good
guess both as to the author and the business that needed talking over.

Through the open door of the hotel he saw Sam approaching. Quickly he
sealed the flap of the envelope again, and held it pressed against his
fingers while he waited.

"A letter for you, Sam."

Cullison tore open the envelope and read the note.

"A fr