our
hat on." In the West, not to say in every other locality, there is a
time-honored joke about matrimony, for certain strenuous reasons,
producing premature baldness.

Ches grinned and removed his hat. Eight years had heightened his
forehead perceptibly and thinned the hair on his temples. "You see what
it's done to me," he pointed out lugubriously. "You ain't married
yourself, I suppose? You look like you'd met up with some kinda
misfortune." Mason was regarding Ford's scarred face with some
solicitude.

"Just got tangled up a little with my fellow-citizens, in Sunset," Ford
explained drily. "I tried to see how much of the real stuff I could get
outside of, and then how many I could lick." He shrugged his shoulders a
little. "I did quite a lot of both," he added, as an afterthought.

Mason was rubbing his jaw reflectively and staring hard at Ford. "The
wife's strong on the temperance dope," he said hesitatingly. "I reckon
you'll want to bunk down with the boys till you grow some hide on your
face--there's lady company up at the house, and--"

"The bunk-house for mine, then," Ford cut in hastily. "No lady can get
within gunshot of me; not if I see her coming in time!" Though he smiled
when he said it, there was meaning behind the mirth.

Mason pulled a splinter from a corral rail and began to snap off little
bits with his fingers. "Kate will go straight up in the air with me if
she knows you're here and won't come to the house, though," he
considered uneasily. "She's kept a big package of gratitude tucked away
with your name on it, ever since that Alaska deal. And lemme tell you,
Ford, when a woman as good as Kate goes and gets grateful to a
man--gosh! Had your dinner?"

"Not lately, I haven't," Ford declared. "I kinda remember eating, some
time in the past; it was a long time ago, though."

Mason laughed and tagged the answer as being the natural exaggeration
of a hungry man. "Well, come along and eat, then--if you haven't
forgotten how to make your jaws go. I've got Mose Freeman cooking for
me; you know Mose, don't you? Hired him the day after the Fourth; the
Mitten outfit fired him for getting soused and trying to clean out the
camp, and I nabbed him before they had time to forgive him. Way they had
of disciplining him--when he'd go on a big tear they'd fire him for a
few days and then take him back. But they can't git him now--not if I
can help it. A better cook never throwed dishwater over a guy-rope than