in a more
peaceful pasture. But that drivelling married man sat there and
cackled when he won a man like an unintelligent hen picking up a
grain of corn.

"When the game was over Perry gets up and looks at his watch.

"'I've had a glorious time, Buck,' says he, 'but I'll have to be
going now. It's a quarter to seven, and I got to be home by seven,
you know.'

"I thought he was joking.

"'They'll clear out or be dead drunk in half an hour or an hour,'
says I. 'You ain't that tired of being married that you want to
commit any more sudden suicide, are you?' says I, giving him the
laugh.

"'One time,' says Perry, 'I was half an hour late getting home. I
met Mariana on the street looking for me. If you could have seen
her, Buck--but you don't understand. She knows what a wild kind of
a snoozer I've been, and she's afraid something will happen. I'll
never be late getting home again. I'll say good-bye to you now,
Buck.'

"I got between him and the door.

"'Married man,' says I, 'I know you was christened a fool the minute
the preacher tangled you up, but don't you never sometimes think one
little think on a human basis? There's ten of that gang in there,
and they're pizen with whisky and desire for murder. They'll drink
you up like a bottle of booze before you get half-way to the door.
Be intelligent, now, and use at least wild-hog sense. Sit down and
wait till we have some chance to get out without being carried in
baskets.'

"'I got to be home by seven, Buck,' repeats this hen-pecked thing of
little wisdom, like an unthinking poll parrot. 'Mariana,' says he,
'will be out looking for me.' And he reaches down and pulls a leg
out of the checker table. 'I'll go through this Trimble outfit,'
says he, 'like a cottontail through a brush corral. I'm not pestered
any more with a desire to engage in rucuses, but I got to be home by
seven. You lock the door after me, Buck. And don't you forget--I won
three out of them five games. I'd play longer, but Mariana--'

"'Hush up, you old locoed road runner,' I interrupts. 'Did you
ever notice your Uncle Buck locking doors against trouble? I'm not
married,' says I, 'but I'm as big a d----n fool as any Mormon.
One from four leaves three,' says I, and I gathers out another
leg of the table. 'We'll get home by seven,' says I, 'whether
it's the heavenly one or the other. May I see you home?' says I,
'you sarsaparilla-drinking, checker-playing glutton for death and
destruction.'