We all crowded around him, thinkin’ ’at the bruise betokened some sort of trouble; but he said he’d got afraid they’d begin to suspicion him; so he had tried to ride a hoss that day, and had let it buck him off. He said the’ wasn’t much lettin’ needed, as it had been a mean one; but he had got his forehead grazed, and had lain on the ground, claimin’ his back was hurt. It was only about eight o’clock, and we wondered how he had the nerve to come so early; but he said they were havin’ a drinkin’ bout over havin’ dogged a feller by the name o’ Bryce off his claim on Ice Crick, thus gettin’ a new outlet to grass and water.

He said the woman had been mighty good to him after his fall; but that he couldn’t get her to talk about herself at all. “Have you ever mentioned the name of Carmichael to her?” I asked.

“No,” sez he, “why should I?”

“That’s the Friar’s name,” sez I. “He used to preach in a regular church down east, and she sang in the choir. Next time you get a chance, try to draw her out about this.”

The Friar told him a lot o’ small details to ask her about; and went part way back with him, as he wouldn’t stay long for fear o’ bein’ missed. The Friar insisted on stayin’ along with us, while Olaf went back to the Spread.

Two nights after this Promotheus came up to our camp again. He said he had had several talks with her, and that she remembered the names and places, all right, but insisted that Carmichael was dead. She said he often came to her in her dreams; but that she knew he had died long ago.

“Does she ever sing?” asked the Friar.

“Never,” sez The. “She don’t even talk much. She has some sort of a pain in her head, and sometimes she seems to wander; but at other times she is perfectly clear.”

“Is Ty Jones ever mean to her?” asked the Friar.

“Never,” sez The. “Ty ain’t mean to those about him. He has his own idees—he likes to have his men and dogs and hosses all fierce and nervy—but he’s not mean to ’em. And all the boys treat her respectful, too. Fact is, I don’t see where we got any grounds to take her away.”

“But she does not care for him,” sez the Friar; “she could not care for him! He must have used trick or force to bring her here; and you must find out the truth about it. It all depends on you, now.”

“I’m doin’ all I can, Friar,” sez The; “but it’s a hard tangle to see through.”

When he left to go back, me an’ the Friar and Horace went with him. “Supposin’ they should see you comin’ back?” sez the Friar.

“Well,” sez The, “Ty don’t keep his men in prison, and I’d tell ’em I was up takin’ a little air after bein’ shut away from it so long.”

“Supposin’ they got suspicious an’ follered ya?” asked the Friar.

“I try to be as careful as I can,” sez The; “but I own up I allus feel a bit nervous till I get back to my bunk.”

“The best plan is for one of us to wait where the path leads down into the ravine each night at eleven,” sez the Friar. “We could go at ten and wait until twelve. If we went any closer, the dogs might get scent of us.”

We agreed ’at this would be the best plan; and after this, two of us made it a point to spend a couple of hours waitin’ there, while the rest stayed at the look-out ready to hustle down if the’ was any excitement; but nothin’ happened and we got purty fidgetty.

“Tank,” sez I one afternoon, “let’s ride over to Skelty’s. The’s generally some Cross-branders there, and perhaps we can find a little amusement.”

We reached there about seven, and ordered supper. There were five Cross-branders there already, eatin’ and drinkin’; and one of ’em was the tall feller by the name o’ Dixon. I nodded to him when I sat down and he nodded back. It’s funny the way a man feels when he goes into an unfriendly place to measure an’ be measured. It’s not like fear, that is, not like panicky fear; but still I suppose it’s something like what a jack-rabbit feels when the hounds are strung out after him. He knows well enough what’ll happen if he can’t run fast enough—but then he takes a heap of exhilaration in the thought that he most certainly can run fast enough.

All those fellers knew something o’ me an’ ol’ Tank; while Dixon was the only one we knew, the rest bein’ mostly young chaps who had taken on with Ty durin’ the last few years; but as most o’ Ty’s men were trailed out o’ some other state by a posse, it was a safe bet that they had more or less rattler blood in ’em. They were all on friendly terms with the girls, and the girls called ’em by name, whenever they couldn’t think up some other term ’at suited their taste better. One o’ these young fellers still had a boy’s eyes; but most o’ their eyes were purty hard an’ chilly.

I never did set any store on havin’ a strange woman call me “dear”; and neither did ol’ Tank. With his eye runnin’ wild, and his mussed-up features, the term dear fitted him about as snug as false bangs an’ face-powder would; but one o’ these young hussies came over an’ stood behind his chair, and sez: “Why hello, dearie, where have you been all the time?”

“I’ve been over teachin’ my grandchildren how to play the pianer,” sez Tank. “Have you got any pork an’ beans?”

Most any girl knows ’at most any man’ll stand for most anything; so this one grabbed hold o’ Tank’s hair and gave it a pull; but she savvied ’at he didn’t have any love for her, so she brought in his grub, threw it down in front of him, and went back to soft-soapin’ the feller with a boy’s eyes. He was still young enough to feel flattered by it, and truth to tell, she wasn’t a bad lookin’ girl, except that she drenched a feller so constant with her feminine charms that she washed away any hankerin’s for ’em he might have had to begin with.

Any healthy woman has all the allurement she can possibly need, if she’ll just take care of it. I like to see a hoss full o’ fire, and I like to see a woman full of enticement; but I like to see both the fire an’ the enticement kept under good control, and not made to show out unnecessary.

Once, when I was in Frisco, I saw a parade of the Friendly Order of Hindu Cats, and the Grand Thomas Cat o’ Creation rode in front on an old gray hoss. This hoss had feet like worn-out brooms, and the’ was knots all over his legs. All he asked in the way of entertainment was to pass a peaceful day in a quiet stable, face to face with a bale of hay; but they had clipped his mane an’ tail, hung a beaded belt across his brisket, put a scarlet blanket on him, and jabbed him with spurs until he was irritated to a degree.

The feller ridin’ him had learned to ride in a barber’s chair; but he had a heavy frown, and a lot o’ gold lace, and a big canoe-shaped hat; and I have to admit that if they had tied him fast to the saddle, and put rubber spurs on him, he would have looked the part like a picture. Every time he’d see one of his friends he’d stab the hoss on the off side, then jerk back on the curb, and smile benevolent, as though he intended to save the populace from that fiery steed or sprain every bone in his face.

The old gray was as forgivin’ a hoss as I ever see; but he had his limits as well as the rest of us. For the first ten or fifteen blocks, he’d only swish his tail and prance when his rider jabbed him an order for a little more fire; but finally his flanks got touchy, and his sense o’ justice began to write the declaration of independence on his patience. This would have been the time an intelligent human would have traded off his spurs for an apple or a lump o’ sugar, or some other welcome little peace-offerin’; but just then the parade passed under a window jammed full o’ the Grand Thomas Cat’s closest friends, and o’ course, they had to see a little fire.

He straightened out his legs, and then clamped the spurs into the old gray’s flanks. I had fought my way through the crowd for fifteen squares just to see it happen, and it was well worth it. The gray was stiff and awkward, but in his youth he had taken a few lessons in buckin’, and what he lacked in speed and practice, he made up in earnestness. The Thomas Cat didn’t know any more about balancing than a ball, and the grip of his knees wouldn’t have put a dent in a pullet’s egg; the’ was no horn to the saddle, and the mane had been clipped, so all he had to hang on with was the spurs and the curb bit; and things certainly did happen.

The old gray pitched and kicked and reared and backed and snorted and got mixed up with flags and citizens and umbrellas and red-lemonade stands and policemen; until finally he scraped off the Grand Thomas Cat of Creation on an awning, and tore off home, jumpin’ and kickin’; while the population threw their hats in the air and yelled their palates loose. They threw fruit and popcorn and friendly advice at the Grand Cat as he hung from the awning; but friend or foe, the’ wasn’t a soul in that crowd to help him get down; so as soon as he got calm enough to remember what he was, he dropped the three feet to the sidewalk, and ran into the store and hid.

If ya want to fill a crowd with content and satisfaction and joy and felicity and such-like items, just have some terrible accident happen to a popular hero, and all the joy-wells’ll overflow and gush forth like fountains—But what made me think o’ this little incident was the fact that this girl at Skelty’s put the spurs to her feminine charms a leetle too continuous.

Dixon, the Cross-brander, was one o’ these lean, skinny ones, and as a rule, I don’t crave to make their acquaintance. His Adam’s apple ran up and down in his neck like a dumbwaiter, and the’ was plenty o’ distance for consid’able of a run. If ya looked at just the part of him between his chin and his shoulders, he resembled an ostrich, chokin’ on an orange; but I decided to be as friendly as possible; so as soon as I’d filled a cigarette paper, I offered him my sack o’ tobacco. He took it, and while he was rollin’ himself a cigarette, he sez: “I see you’ve cut loose from your preacher.”

“Nope,” sez I, “he cut loose from me.”

“How come you fellers spend so much time out this way?” sez he.

“Nice country and pleasant folks,” sez I.

“I’ve heard tell ’at you got so familiar over at the Diamond Dot, that the old man turned ya loose,” sez he. “Is the’ anything to it?”

I didn’t reply at once. My first impulse was to see if I couldn’t pull him and his Adam’s apple apart; for this wasn’t no accident. This was a studied insult, and every one there was watchin’ to see what would happen; but the’ was too much at stake; so I gripped myself until I had time to put that remark where it wouldn’t run any risk o’ spoilin’; and then I sez: “Well, I don’t just like to have it put that way; but I will admit that you haven’t missed it so terrible far.”

“Lookin’ for a job?” sez he.

“Oh, I’m not carin’ much,” sez I. “I’m thinkin’ some o’ takin’ a homestead, or buyin’ some other feller out; but I ain’t in any hurry. I may go on down into Texas, or take on again up here. Any chance for a job with your outfit?”

Durin’ the time I had been decidin’ on what I’d say, Dixon had been wonderin’ how I’d take it; and I don’t doubt he was some relieved. Anyway, he thawed out a little. “Nope, I hardly think so,” sez he. “We’ve been hard pushed for grass this season; but Ty bought a water-right on Ice Crick, and things has smoothed out again. Another thing is, that Badger-face has come back.”

I gave a start as natural as life, and I didn’t put it on, neither. I had no idy he’d mention Badger-face without a lot o’ pumpin’. “Badger-face?” sez I. “Good Lord, I thought he was dead!”

“Well, we thought so, too,” sez Dixon. “We hadn’t heard a word from him; but he showed up a while back, and as soon as he gets able, he’ll take to ridin’ again.”

“What’s wrong with him?” sez I.

“He’s purty well played out,” sez Dixon. “He sez ’at that feller, Bradford, is some sort of a government agent. Now, we ain’t got nothin’ again’ the government out this way, so long as it minds its own business; but when it gets to interferin’ with our rights, why it generally has to find a new agent. You were along with this feller, Bradford, when he scooped in Badger-face; and I doubt if that has slipped Badger’s mind yet. Badger’s memory for such things used to be purty reliable.”

“Well, if it comes to that,” sez I, “I’d rather have Badger-face on my trail than Dinky Bradford; though I own up, I don’t just know what government position Dinky holds.”

“Ol’ man Williams there was along with ya, too, wasn’t he?” sez Dixon.

“Sure he was,” sez I. “We got a heap better paid, for that trip ’n we usually get.”

“Yes,” sez he, slow an’ drawly, “but a feller can never tell when he’s all paid out for such a trip as that.”

“A feller has to take chances in everything,” sez I. “I still got a little money left to amuse myself with.”

“It don’t seem to make ya reckless,” sez he. Dixon had been drinkin’ purty freely, and I rather liked the effect liquor had on him.

“Maxwell,” I called, “this is a dry summer. Set up the drinks for the house.” Some saloon-keepers fawn on ya as if they’d melt the money out o’ your clothes while some of ’em are cold and haughty, as though it was an insult to offer ’em money. Maxwell was one o’ this kind. He glared his red eyes at me as if I’d been rude; but he set out the drinks all right.

Tank had been shut away from drink for so long that I had plumb forgot how he had happened to win his title; but as soon as I had give the order, I sensed that he was in the mood to sluice himself out thorough. The very minute we had cooled off from the drinks—Maxwell kept a brand o’ poison which would eat holes in an iron kettle, if you let it set five minutes—Well, the very instant the steam had stopped comin’ out of our mouths, Tank ordered a round; and before that had got on good terms with the first drink, Spider Kelley had arrived.

Mexican Slim had guessed where we were headin’ for, and Tank had owned up to it, and Slim had told Spider, and, o’ course, Spider hadn’t been able to stay behind; so when he stuck his nose in the door, Tank sez ’at the drinks was always on the last-comer, and Spider ordered a round.

I can journey about with a fair amount o’ booze, without lettin’ it splash over into my conversation; but I was there on business, so I drank as short drinks as would seem sociable. Tank, on the other hand, had formerly been as immune to liquor as a glass bottle; but he was out o’ practice without realizin’ it; and he splashed into Maxwell’s forty-rod as though he was a trout hurryin’ back to his native element. Spider was a wise old rat, and he played safe, the same as me. O’ course, the Cross-branders couldn’t stand by and see us purchase Maxwell’s entire stock, without makin’ a few bids themselves; so for a while, we peered at the ceiling purty tol’able frequent.

The young feller with the boy’s eyes was chin-ful to begin with, the other three Cross-branders were purty well calloused to a liberal supply o’ turpentine; while Dixon would load up his dumb-waiter and send it down as unconcerned as though his throat was a lead pipe, connectin’ with an irrigation ditch. He had reached the stage where he was reckless but not thoughtless, and the’ didn’t seem any way to wash him down grade any farther.

“Any more o’ you fellers liable to drop in?” sez he, lookin’ at me. I waved my hand towards Spider, as though he, bein’ the last to arrive, would have the latest news; and Spider sez: “Nope, I reckon not. Leastwise, not so far as I know.”

“Badger-face has come back and taken on with Ty again,” sez I.

“The hell he has!” exclaimed Spider, just as I knew he would.

“Yes,” sez Dixon with an evil chuckle, “he’s come back, and I doubt if he’d feel any sorrow at meetin’ up with some o’ you boys.”

“As far as I remember,” sez ol’ Tank, bulkin’ up as ponderous as a justice o’ the peace, “I don’t recall havin’ asked Badger’s permission to do anything in the past, and I don’t intend to begin now.”

“Well,” sez Dixon, “I don’t mind tellin’ ya that Ty Jones ain’t so sure o’ Badger as he used to be; and nothin’ would suit him so well as to see Badger cut loose and get some o’ you fellers for helpin’ to have him railroaded.”

This surprised me. Dixon didn’t seem a shade worse ’n he’d been when Spider arrived, but he’d sure enough leaked out the news I was after. Ty was suspicious o’ Promotheus, and we’d have to finish our job as soon as possible. I didn’t want to start anything at Skelty’s so I proposed a little friendly poker. The Kid was asleep in the corner; so the seven of us played stud for an hour or so until Tank fell out of his chair, and then we broke up for the night.

Tank was all in; so we had to put him to bed, and the Kid had to be put to bed, also; but Dixon and the other three took a final drink and started back to Ty’s.