him for the botts," another prescribed.

That suggestion appealed to their humor. It was endorsed with laughter
as they pressed around Morgan to cut off his escape.

"I was told you men were looking for me," Morgan said, estimating them
individually and collectively with calculative eyes, "so I stepped in
here where you could find me if you had anything worth a man's time to
say to me. I guess you've shot your wad, and you've got my answer. You
can tell your friend I'm stopping at the Elkhorn hotel, if he don't know
it already."

Morgan moved away from the bar as if to leave the place. They bunched in
front of him to bar his passage, one laying hold of his arm.

"We're fixin' up a little drink for you," this detainer said, indicating
the former spokesman, who was busy at the bar pouring something of the
contents of the various bottles into one that bore a champagne label.

"I've had my drink, it isn't time for another," Morgan said, swinging
his arm, sending the fellow who clung to it headlong through the ranks
of his companions.

At this show of resistance the mask of humor that had covered their
sinister intention was flung aside. The man with the wide-set teeth
stepped into action there, the others giving place to him as to a
recognized champion. He whirled into Morgan, planting a blow just above
the bridge of his nose that sent him back against the bar with a jolt
that made the bottles dance.

It was such a sudden and mighty blow that Morgan was dazed for a moment,
almost blinded. He saw his assailant before him in wavering lines as he
guarded instinctively rather than scientifically against the fierce
follow-up by which the fellow seemed determined to make an inglorious
end of it for the despised granger. Morgan cleared out of the mists of
this sudden assault in a moment, for he was a man who had taken and
given hard blows in more than one knock-down and drag-out in his day. He
caught the swing that was meant for a knock-out on his left guard, and
drove his able right fist into the fellow's face.

The pugilistic cowboy, rare fellow among his kind, went to the floor.
But there was good stuff in him, worthy the confidence his comrades
reposed. For a breath or two he lay on his back as he fell, twisted to
his side with a springy movement of incredible swiftness, and sprang to
his feet. Blood was running from his battered nose and already puffed
lips. The cheers of his comrades warmed him back to battle, and t