ned against the bar for support. He
felt sick through and through.

Chapter IX

Billie Stands Pat

Clanton came back out of the haze to find his friend's arm around his
waist, the sound of his strong, cheerful voice in his ears.

"Steady, old fellow, steady. Where did they hit you, Jim?"

"In the shoulder. I'm sick."

Billie supported him to a chair and called to the bartender, who was
cautiously rising from a prone position behind the bar. "Bring a glass of
water, Mike."

The wounded man drank the water, and presently the sickness passed. He
saw a little crowd gather. Some of them carried out the body of Hugh
Roush. They returned for that of his brother.

"Dave ain't dead yet. He's still breathing," one of the men said.

"Not dead!" exclaimed Clanton. "Did you say he wasn't dead?"

"Now, don't you worry about that," cautioned Prince. "Looks to me like
you sure got him. Anyhow, it ain't your fault. You were that quiet and
game and cool. I never saw the beat."

The admiration of his partner did not comfort Jim. He was suspiciously
near a breakdown. "Why didn't I take another crack at him when I had the
chance?" he whimpered. "I been waitin' all these years, an' now--"

"I tell you he hasn't a chance in a thousand, Jim. You did the job
thorough. He's got his,"

Prince had been intending to say more, but he changed his mind. Half a
dozen men were coming toward them from the front door. Buck Sanders was
one of them, Quantrell's trooper another. Their manner looked like
business.

Sanders was the spokesman. "You boys ride for the Flying V Y, don't you?"
he asked curtly.

"We do," answered Billie, and his voice was just as cold. It had in it
the snap of a whiplash.

"You came in here to pick trouble with us. Your pardner--Clanton,
whatever his name is--gave it out straight that he was goin' to kill
Roush."

"He didn't mention you, did he?"

"The Roush brothers were in our party. We ride for the Lazy S M. We don't
make distinctions."

"Don't you? Listen," advised Prince. In five sentences he sketched the
cause of the trouble between Jim Clanton and the Roush brothers. "My
bunkie didn't kill any of the Roush clan because they worked for Snaith
and McRobert. He shot them for the reason I've just given you. That's his
business. It was a private feud of his own. You heard what was said
before the shootin' began," he concluded.

"Tha's what you say. You'll tell us, too, that he got Ranse Roush in