d ranch foreman,
had business in Toyah. Clayton had heard of Allison but knew little
about him. Drunk and quarrelsome, he hunted up McCullough, called him
every abusive name he could think of before a crowd, and then suggested
that if he did not like it he might send over his brother-in-law
Allison, who was said to be a gun fighter. A mild and peaceable man
himself, McCullough avoided a difficulty and returned to Pecos.

Two days later a lone horseman rode into Toyah, stopped at Youngbloods'
store, tied his horse, and went in. Approaching the group of loafers
curled up on boxes at the rear of the store, he inquired:

"Can any of you gentlemen tell me if a gentleman named Clayton, Jep
Clayton, is in town, an' where I can find him?"

They replied that he had been in the store an hour before and was
probably near by.

As the lone horseman walked out of the door, one the loungers remarked:

"I believe that's Clay Allison, an' ef it is it's all up with Jep."

He slipped out and gave Jep warning, told him Allison was in town, that
he had known him years before, and that Jep had better quit town or say
his prayers. Concluding, he said, "You done barked up the wrong tree
this time, sure."

Allison went on from one saloon to another, at each making the same
polite inquiry for Mr. Clayton's whereabouts. At last, out on the
street Allison met a party of eight men, a crowd Clayton had gathered,
and repeated his inquiry. A man stepped out of the group and said: "My
name's Clayton, an' I reckon yours is Allison. Look here, Mr. Allison,
this is all a mistake. I----"

"Why, what's a mistake? Didn't you meet Mr. McCullough the other day?"

"Yes."

"Didn't you abuse him shamefully?"

"Well, yes, but----"

"Didn't you send me an invite to come over here?"

"Well, yes, I did, but it was a mistake, Mr. Allison; I was drunk. It
was whiskey talkin'; nothin' more. I'm terrible sorry. It was jes'
whiskey talk."

"Whiskey talk, was it? Well, Mr. Clayton, le's step in the saloon here
and get some whiskey an' see if it won't set you goin' again. I
believe I'd enjoy hearin' jes' a few words o' your whiskey talk."

They entered a saloon. For an hour Clayton was plied with whiskey,
taunted and jeered until those who had admired him slunk away in
disgust, and those who had feared him laughed in enjoyment of his
humiliation. But no amount of whiskey could rouse him that day.

Allison's scarred, impassive face, low,