emed a long time,
counted by anxious seconds, until Foster was safe in the coach.

"All ready, conductor," said Sinclair. "Now, Foster, good-by. I am
not good at lecturing, but if I were you, I would make this the
turning-point in my life."

Foster was much moved.

"I will do it, Major," said he; "and I shall never forget what you have
done for me to-day. I am sure we shall meet again."

With another shriek from the whistle the train started. Sinclair and
Sam saw the men quietly returning the firearms to their places as it
gathered way. Then they walked back to their quarters. The men on the
_mesa_, balked of their purpose, had withdrawn.

Sam accompanied Sinclair to his door, and then sententiously remarked:
"Major, I think I'll light out and find some of the boys. You ain't
got no call to know anything about it, but I allow it's about time them
cusses was bounced."

Three nights after this, a powerful party of _Vigilantes_, stern and
inexorable, made a raid on all the gambling dens, broke the tables and
apparatus, and conducted the men to a distance from the town, where they
left them with an emphatic and concise warning as to the consequences
of any attempt to return. An exception was made in Jeff Johnson's
cases--but only for the sake of his daughter--for it was found that many
a "little game" had been carried on in his house.

Ere long he found it convenient to sell his business and retire to a
town some miles to the eastward, where the railroad influence was not
as strong as at Barker's. At about this time, Sinclair made his
arrangements to go to New York, with the pleasant prospect of marrying
the young lady in Fifth Avenue. In due time he arrived at Barker's with
his young and charming wife and remained for some days. The changes
were astounding. Commonplace respectability had replaced abnormal
lawlessness. A neat station stood where had been the rough contractor's
buildings. At a new "Windsor" (or was it "Brunswick"?) the performance
of the kitchen contrasted sadly (alas! how common is such contrast
in these regions) with the promise of the _menu_. There was a tawdry
theatre yclept "Academy of Music," and there was not much to choose in
the way of ugliness between two "meeting-houses."

"Upon my word, my dear," said Sinclair to his wife, "I ought to be
ashamed to say it, but I prefer Barker's _au naturel_."

One evening, just before the young people left the town, and as Mrs.
Sinclair sat alone in he