s swore suddenly. "Well!" he exclaimed. "Look at what blowed in
off of one of them dry-ranch layouts!"

McHale smiled blandly, pushing a bottle in his direction.

"Beats all how some things drift about all over the country," he
observed. "Tumbleweeds and such. They go rollin' along mighty gay till
they bump into a wire fence somewheres."

"It's sure a wonder to me your boss lets you stray this far off," said
Cross, with sarcasm. "He needs a man to look after him the worst way.
He don't seem to have no sand. I met up with him along our ditch a
while back, and I told him to hike. You bet he did. Only that he'd a
girl with him I'd have run him clean back to his reservation."

"You want to get a movin'-picture layout," McHale suggested. "That'd
make a right good show--_you_ runnin' Casey. You used to work for one
of them outfits, didn't you?"

"No. What makes you think I did?"

"Your face looked sorter familiar to me," McHale replied. "Studyin' on
it, it seems like I'd seen it in one of them picture shows down in
Cheyenne. Right good show, too. It showed a bunch of boys after a hoss
thief. He got away."

"Haw-haw!" laughed one of the regulars, and suddenly froze to silence.
Billy, behind the bar, stood as if petrified, towel in hand. Cross's
face, flushed with liquor, blackened in a ferocious scowl.

"You ---- ---- ----!" he roared. "What do you mean by that?"

"Mean?" asked McHale innocently. "Why, I was tellin' you about a show I
seen. What's wrong with that?"

"You called me a horse thief!" cried Cross.

"Who? Me?" said McHale. "Why, no, Mr. Cross, you ain't no hoss thief. I
know different. If anybody says you are, you just send him right along
to me. No, sir; I know you ain't. There's two good reasons against it."

Cross glared at him, his fingers beginning to twitch.

"Let's hear them," he said. "If they ain't good you go out of that door
feet first."

"They're plumb good--best you ever heard," McHale affirmed. "Now,
listen. Here's how I know you ain't no hoss thief: For one thing, you
got too much mouth; and for another you ain't got the nerve!"

Out of the dead silence came Shiller's voice from the door:

"I'll fill the first man that makes a move plumb full of buckshot. If
there's any shootin' in here, I'm doin' it myself." He held a pump gun
at his shoulder, the muzzle dominating the group. "You, Tom," he
continued, "you said you wouldn't make trouble."

"Am I makin' it?" asked McHale.

"Are y