ry to-day."

"Why?" demanded Ruth haughtily.

"Because, whatever you've been and done, I want ye to have a square
show. Ole Nixon has been cavoortin' round yer the last two days,
swearin' to kill you on sight for runnin' off with his darter. Sabe?
Now, let me ax ye two questions. FIRST, Are you heeled?"

Ruth responded to this dialectical inquiry affirmatively by putting his
hand on his revolver.

"Good! Now, SECOND, Have you got the gal along here with you?"

"No," responded Ruth in a hollow voice.

"That's better yet," said the man, without heeding the tone of
the reply. "A woman--and especially THE woman in a row of this
kind--handicaps a man awful." He paused, and took up the empty glass.
"Look yer, Ruth Pinkney, I'm a square man, and I'll be square with you.
So I'll just tell you you've got the demdest odds agin' ye. Pr'aps ye
know it, and don't keer. Well, the boys around yer are all sidin' with
the old man Nixon. It's the first time the old rip ever had a hand in
his favor: so the boys will see fair play for Nixon, and agin' YOU. But
I reckon you don't mind him!"

"So little, I shall never pull trigger on him," said Ruth gravely.

The bar-keeper stared, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, thar's
that Kanaka Joe, who used to be sorter sweet on Mornie,--he's an ugly
devil,--he's helpin' the old man."

The sad look faded from Ruth's eyes suddenly. A certain wild Berserker
rage--a taint of the blood, inherited from heaven knows what Old-World
ancestry, which had made the twin-brothers' Southwestern eccentricities
respected in the settlement--glowed in its place. The barkeeper noted
it, and augured a lively future for the day's festivities. But it faded
again; and Ruth, as he rose, turned hesitatingly towards him.

"Have you seen my brother Rand lately?"

"Nary."

"He hasn't been here, or about the Ferry?"

"Nary time."

"You haven't heard," said Ruth, with a faint attempt at a smile, "if
he's been around here asking after me,--sorter looking me up, you know?"

"Not much," returned the bar-keeper deliberately. "Ez far ez I know
Rand,--that ar brother o' yours,--he's one of yer high-toned chaps ez
doesn't drink, thinks bar-rooms is pizen, and ain't the sort to come
round yer, and sling yarns with me."

Ruth rose; but the hand that he placed upon the table, albeit a powerful
one, trembled so that it was with difficulty he resumed his knapsack.
When he did so, his bent figure, stooping shoulders,