ry to the fulfilment of a promise to do so.

To those who were impatient and sought him out in advance, he was ever
obliging and proved ready to meet them where and when and how they
pleased. It was all the same to him. To avoid annoying legal
complications, he was known to have more than once deliberately given
his opponent the first shot.

In the early eighties a band of horse rustlers were playing great havoc
among the saddle stock in north-eastern New Mexico. It was chiefly
through Mr. Allison's industry and accurate marksmanship that their
numbers were reduced below a convenient working majority. The leader
vowed vengeance on Allison. One day they met unexpectedly in the stage
ranch at the crossing of the Cimarron.

Mr. Allison invited the rustler to take a drink. The invitation was
accepted. It was remarked by the bystanders that while they were
drinking neither seemed to take any especial interest in the brazen
pictures that constituted a feature of the Cimarron bar and were the
pride of its proprietor. The next manoeuvre in the game was a
proposition by Mr. Allison that they retire to the dining-room and have
some oysters. Unable to plead any other engagement to dine, the
rustler accepted. As they sat down at table, both agreed that their
pistols felt heavy about their waists, and each drew his weapon from
the scabbard and laid it on his knees.

While the Cimarron ranch was noted for the best cooking on the trail,
other gentlemen at dinner seemed oddly indifferent to its delicacies,
nervously gulped down a few mouthfuls and then slipped quietly out of
the room, leaving loaded plates.

Presently Mr. Allison dropped a fork on the floor--perhaps by
accident--and bent as if to pick it up. An opening in his enemy's
guard the rustler could not resist: he grabbed the pistol lying in his
lap and raised it quickly, but in doing so he struck the muzzle beneath
the edge of the table, causing an instant's delay. It was, however,
enough; Allison had pitched sideways to the floor, and, firing beneath
the table, converted a bad rustler into a good one.

Dodge City used to be one of the hottest places on the Texas trail. It
was full of thugs and desperadoes of the worst sort, come to prey upon
the hundreds of cowboys who were paid off there. This money had to be
kept in Dodge at any cost. Usually the boys were easy game. What
money the saloons failed to get was generally gambled off against brace
games of