of makin' up
po'try, later."

"I really beg your pardon," said Bartley.

"The mescal must of told you."

"I don't quite get that," said Bartley.

"No? Well, you ain't the first. Josh and Filaree is the only ones that
sabes me. Let's sit in this corner and watch the mescal work for a
livin'."

It was a hot night. Sweat prickled on Bartley's forehead. His nose
itched. He lit a cigar. It tasted bitter, so he asked Cheyenne for
tobacco and papers, and rolled a cigarette. He inhaled a whiff, and felt
more comfortable. The Mexicans, who had ceased to talk when Bartley and
Cheyenne entered, were now at it again, making plenty of noise.

Cheyenne hummed to himself and tapped the floor with his boot-heel.
"She's a funny old world," he declared.

Bartley nodded and blew a smoke-ring.

"Miss Dorry's sure a interestin' girl," asserted Cheyenne.

Bartley nodded again.

"Kind of young and innocent-like."

Again Bartley nodded.

"It ain't a bad country to settle down in, for folks that likes to
settle," said Cheyenne.

Bartley glanced sharply at his companion. Cheyenne was gazing straight
ahead. His face was unreadable.

"Now if I was the settlin' kind--" He paused and slowly turned toward
Bartley. "A man could raise alfalfa and chickens and kids."

"Go ahead," laughed Bartley.

"I'm goin'--to-morrow mornin'. And you say you figure to stay here a
spell?"

"Oh, just a few days. I imagine I shall grow tired of it. But to-night,
I feel pretty well satisfied to stay right where I am."

Cheyenne rose and strode to the bar. After a short argument with the
proprietor, he returned with a bottle and glasses. Bartley raised his
eyebrows questioningly.

"Once in a while--" And Cheyenne gestured toward the bottle.

"It's powerful stuff," said Bartley.

"We ain't far from the hotel," declared Cheyenne. And he filled their
glasses.

"This ought to be the last, for me," said Bartley, drinking. "But don't
let that make any difference to you."

Cheyenne drank and shrugged his shoulders. He leaned back and gazed at
the opposite wall. Bartley vaguely realized that the Mexicans were
chattering, that two or three persons had come in, and that the
atmosphere was heavy with tobacco smoke. He unbuttoned his shirt-collar.

Presently Cheyenne twisted round in his chair. "Remember Little Jim,
back at the Hastings ranch?"

"I should say so! It would be difficult to forget him."

"Miss Dorry thinks a heap of that kid."

"She