, this comes
from corn and rye. Never have nothin' to do with a farmer, or anything
that comes from a farmer, after this; or some day, when your hand
ain't quick enough, and things look kind of hazy, some quarrelsome
man's goin' to shoot first and you'll cash in.' And from that day to
this, when I want to go on a bust, I drink a gallon of soda pop to
have a rip-roarin' time."

A man lurched out of the door of the road house as if striving to find
clean air, and stood leaning against one of the pole posts supporting
a pole porch. Another one joined him, coarsely accusing him of being a
"quitter" because he had left his drink on the bar. They were
stubbornly passing words when, from down the road, there came the
gritting of wheels over the pulverized stone, and the clacking of
horses' hoofs, slow moving, as if being rested by a cautious driver
along the ascent.

The man by the post suddenly frowned in the direction of the sound,
and then whirled back to the open door.

"It's Bully!" he bellowed so loudly that his words were plainly
audible to the partners lying in the shadow. "Bully's a-comin' up the
road right now! Let's get him!"

There was a fierce, bawling chorus of shouts that outdid anything
preceding, and the door seemed to vomit men in all stages of
intoxication, who came heavily out with their boots stamping across
the boards of the porch. They cursed, imprecated, shook their fists,
and threatened, as they surged into the road and looked down it toward
the approaching driver. The men in the shade got quickly to their
feet, interested spectators, and the burros awoke from their drowsy
somnolence, and turned inquiring, soft eyes on their owners.

Calmly driven up toward the mob in the road came a mountain buckboard
drawn by two sweating horses. In the seat was a man who drove as if
the reins were completely in control. He appeared to be stockily
built, and his shoulders--broad, heavy, and high--had, even in that
posture, the unmistakable stamp of one who is accustomed to stooping
his way through drifts and tunnels. He wore a black slouch hat, which
had been shaped by habitual handling to shade his eyes. His hair was
white; his neck short and thick, with a suggestion of bull-like power
and force. His face, as he approached to closer range, showed firm and
masterful. His nose was dominant--the nose of a conqueror who
overrides all obstacles. He came steadily forward, without in the
least changing his attitude,