he referred to Bartley--"is he goin' along with you?"

"He ain't so tender as you might think," said Cheyenne. "He's green, but
not so dam' tender."

"Well, it's right sad. He looks like a pretty decent hombre."

"What's sad?" queried Cheyenne belligerently.

"Why, gettin' that tenderfoot all shot up, trailin' a couple of
twenty-dollar cayuses. They ain't worth it."

"They ain't, eh?"

"Course, they make a right good audience, when you're singin'. They do
all the listenin'," said another puncher.

"Huh! They ain't one of you got a hoss that can listen to you, without
blushin'. You fellas think you're a hard-ridin'--"

"Ridin' beats walkin'," suggested Long Lon.

"Keep a-joshin'. I like it. Shows how much you don't know. I--hello, Mr.
Bartley! Shake hands with Lon Pelly--but I guess you met him, over to
Antelope. You needn't to mind the rest of these guys. They're harmless."

"I don't want to interrupt--" began Bartley.

"Set right in!" they invited in chorus. "We're just listenin' to
Cheyenne preachin' his own funeral sermon."

Bartley seated himself in the doorway of the bunk-house. The joshing
ceased. Cheyenne, who could never keep his hands still, toyed with the
dice. Presently one of the boys suggested that Cheyenne show them some
fancy work with a six-gun--"just to keep your wrist limber," he
concluded.

Cheyenne shook his head. But, when Bartley intimated that he would like
to see Cheyenne shoot, Cheyenne rose.

"All right. I'll shoot any fella here for ten bucks--him to name the
target."

"No, you don't," said a puncher. "We ain't givin' our dough away, just
to git rid of it."

"And right recent they was talkin' big," said Cheyenne. "I'll shoot the
spot of a playin'-card, if you'll hold it," he asserted, indicating
Bartley.

The boys glanced at Bartley and then lowered their eyes, wondering what
the Easterner would do. Bartley felt that this was a test of his nerve,
and, while he didn't like the idea of engaging in a William Tell
performance he realized that Cheyenne must have had a reason for
choosing him, out of the men present, and that Cheyenne knew his
business.

"Cheyenne wants to git out of shootin'," suggested a puncher.

That settled it with Bartley. "He won't disappoint you," he stated
quietly. "Give me the card."

One of the boys got up and fetched an old deck of cards. Bartley chose
the ace of spades. Back of the corrals, with nothing but mesa in sight,
he took up his positi