e and Zeke a glass, Joe," said Williams; "and this gentleman,
too, if he'll drink with me, and take one yourself with us."

"No," replied the bar-keeper sullenly, "I'll not drink to any damned
foolishness. An' Zeke won't neither."

"Oh, yes, he will," Williams returned persuasively, "and so'll you, Joe.
You aren't goin' back on me."

"No, I'll be just damned if I am," said the barkeeper, half-conquered.

"What'll you take, sir?" Williams asked me.

"The bar-keeper knows my figger," I answered, half-jestingly, not yet
understanding the situation, but convinced that it was turning out
better than I had expected.

"And you, Zeke?" he went on.

"The old pizen," Zeke replied.

"And now, Joe, whisky for you and me--the square bottle," he continued,
with brisk cheerfulness.

In silence the bar-keeper placed the drinks before us. As soon as the
glasses were empty Williams spoke again, putting out his hand to Zeke at
the same time:

"Good-bye, old man, so long, but saddle up in two hours. Ef I don't come
then, you kin clear; but I guess I'll be with you."

"Good-bye, Joe."

"Good-bye, Tom," replied the bar-keeper, taking the proffered hand,
still half-unwillingly, "if you're stuck on it; but the game is to wait
for 'em here--anyway that's how I'd play it."

A laugh and shake of the head and Williams addressed me:

"Now, sir, I'm ready if you are." We were walking towards the door, when
Zeke broke in:

"Say, Tom, ain't I to come along?"

"No, Zeke, I'll play this hand alone," replied Williams, and two minutes
later he and I were seated in the buggy, driving towards Kiota.

We had gone more than a mile before he spoke again. He began very
quietly, as if confiding his thoughts to me:

"I don't want to make no mistake about this business--it ain't worth
while. I'm sure you're right, and Sheriff Samuel Johnson sent you, but,
maybe, ef you was to think you could kinder bring him before me. There
might be two of the name, the age, the looks--though it ain't likely."
Then, as if a sudden inspiration moved him:

"Where did he come from, this Sam Johnson, do you know?"

"I believe he came from Pleasant Hill, Missouri. I've heard that he left
after a row with his partner, and it seems to me that his partner's name
was Williams. But that you ought to know better than I do. By-the-bye,
there is one sign by which Sheriff Johnson can always be recognized;
he has lost the little finger of his left hand. They say he caug