anned
face. He wore a mustache and a chin whisker of that variety
designated in the mountains by the most opprobrious of epithets. But
his smile, which drew his cheeks into wrinkles all about his long,
round nose, was not unfriendly. He looked with open interest from his
frank but not overtrustworthy eyes at de Spain. "I heard," he said in
a good-natured, slightly nasal tone, "you made a sunrise call on us
one day last week."

"And I want to say," returned de Spain, equally amiable, "that if I
had had any idea you folks would take it so hard--I mean, as an
affront intended to any of you--I never would have gone into the Gap
after Sassoon. I just assumed--making a mistake as I now realize--that
my scrap would be with Sassoon, not with the Morgans."

Satt's face wrinkled into a humorous grin. "You sure kicked up some
alkali."

De Spain nodded candidly. "More than I intended to. And I say--without
any intention of impertinence to anybody else--Sassoon is a cur. I
supposed when I brought him in here after so much riding, that we had
sheriff enough to keep him." He looked at Druel with such composure
that the latter for a moment was nonplussed. Then he discharged a
volley of oaths, and demanded what de Spain meant. De Spain did not
move. He refused to see the angry sheriff. "That is where I made my
second mistake," he continued, speaking to Morgan and forcing his
tone just enough to be heard. Druel, with more hard words, began to
abuse the railroad for not paying taxes enough to build a decent jail.
De Spain took another tack. He eyed the sheriff calmly as the latter
continued to draw away and left de Spain standing somewhat apart from
the rest of the group. "Then it may be I am making another mistake,
Druel, in blaming you. It may not be your fault."

"The fault is, you're fresh," cried Druel, warming up as de Spain
appeared to cool. The line of tipplers backed away from the bar. De
Spain, stepping toward the sheriff, raised his hand in a friendly way.
"Druel, you're hurting yourself by your talk. Make me your deputy
again sometime," he concluded, "and I'll see that Sassoon stays where
he is put."

"I'll just do that," cried Druel, with a very strong word, and he
raised his hand in turn. "Next time you want him locked up, you can
take care of him yourself."

The sharp crack of a rifle cut off the words; a bullet tore like a
lightning-bolt across de Spain's neck, crashed through a mahogany
pilaster back of the bar,