to get Captain Jack," the Ramblin' Kid replied.

"What for?" Skinny asked as they moved toward the barn. "There ain't no
hurry about getting back to the ranch. We won't be going out till
to-morrow or next day--there ain't no use getting the horses out
to-night."

"I don't know," the Ramblin' Kid answered, without stopping, "I just got
a hunch to get him in case I need him. Anyhow, it won't hurt him to
stand out a while--they've been eatin' all day."

"Then I'll get Old Pie Face, too," Skinny replied.

They saddled the bronchos and rode out of the barn.

"Where'll we go?" Skinny asked.

"Reckon we'd better go back down to Sabota's," the Ramblin' Kid said as
they turned their horses in the direction of the pool-room, "if you
still insist on makin' a blamed fool of yourself an' gettin' drunk.
Maybe Mike's back by now. Anyhow, there might be a little poker game
goin' on--I saw a couple of the fellers from over on th' Purgatory come
in a while ago!"

They left Captain Jack and Pie Face standing, with bridle reins dropped,
across the street and in the broad shaft of light streaming from the
open door of the pool-room, and went into the resort.

The place was well filled. Sabota had returned, evidently with an ample
supply of the fiery stuff he called "whisky." Like vultures that
unerringly seek and find the spot where a carcass has fallen the thirsty
of Eagle Butte had gathered at the Elite Amusement Parlor.

Inside the door of the pool-room and at the left, as one entered, was a
hardwood bar eighteen or twenty feet long and over which at one time, in
the days before Eagle Butte "reformed," had been dispensed real
"tarantula juice." The back bar, with its big mirrors and other
fixtures, was as it had been when the place was a regular saloon. At the
right of the room, opposite the bar, were several round, green-topped
card tables. In the rear was the billiard and pool equipment, which
entitled the place to the name "pool-room." Just across from the farther
end of the bar and near the last card table a half-dozen hard-looking,
small-town "toughs"--creatures who loafed about Sabota's and aided him,
as occasion required, in his boot-legging operations or other
questionable enterprises--were lounging, some standing, some sitting,
watching a slow poker game going on at the last table. Cards, under the
laws of Texas, are taboo, but for some reason Sabota managed to get by
and games were allowed in his place.

The two co