after Pink gets back, and--let me know
how things stack up, will you?"

Incredible as was the situation on the face of it, nevertheless it was
extremely matter-of-fact in the handling; which is the way sometimes
with incredible situations; as if, since we know instinctively that we
cannot rise unprepared to the bigness of its possibilities, we keep our
feet planted steadfastly on the ground and refuse to rise at all. And
afterward, perhaps, we look back and wonder how it all came about.

At the last moment Weary turned back and exchanged guns with Andy Green,
because his own was empty and he realized the possible need of one--or
at least the need of having the sheep-men perfectly aware that he had
one ready for use. The Native Son, without a word of comment, handed his
own silver-trimmed weapon over to Irish, and rolled a cigarette deftly
with one hand while he watched them ride away.

"Does this strike anybody else as being pretty raw?" he inquired calmly,
dismounting among them. "I'd do a good deal for the outfit, myself;
but letting that man get off--Say, you fellows up this way don't think
killing a man amounts to much, do you?" He looked from one to the other
with a queer, contemptuous hostility in his eyes.

Andy Green took a forward step and laid a hand familiarly on his rigid
shoulder. "Quit it, Mig. We would do a lot for the outfit; that's the
God's truth. And I played the game right up to the hilt, I admit. But
nobody's killed. I told Happy to play dead. By gracious, I caught him
just in the nick uh time; he'd been setting up, in another minute." To
prove it, he bent and twitched the handkerchief from the face of Happy
Jack, and Happy opened his eyes and made shift to growl.

"Yuh purty near-smothered me t'death, darn yuh."

"Dios!" breathed the Native Son, for once since they knew him jolted out
of his eternal calm. "God, but I'm glad!"

"I guess the rest of us ain't," insinuated Andy softly, and lifted his
hat to wipe the sweat off his forehead. "I will say that--" After
all, he did not. Instead, he knelt beside Happy Jack and painstakingly
adjusted the crumpled hat a hair's breadth differently.

"How do yuh feel, old-timer?" he asked with a very thin disguise of
cheerfulness upon the anxiety of his tone.

"Well, I could feel a lot--better, without hurtin' nothin," Happy Jack
responded somberly. "I hope you fellers--feel better, now. Yuh got
'em--tryin' to murder--the hull outfit; jes' like I--told