flying westward in
fright such as might have warranted euchre upon their stiffly extended
coat-tails.

Willie, the half-wit, one of the sheep outfit, had readily taken the
oath of allegiance; beyond that, however, there had been a hitch in the
proceedings. The man causing this hitch--the long-haired figure at the
bottom of the wagon--had been presumptuous enough to make a stand
against the lords of the earth! The men of Heart's Desire, confident
that the new foreman understood his business, asked few questions as
they gathered about the wagon and gazed at the silent captive.

He was a singular-looking man, tall, lean, sinewy, with a high, thin
nose and a square chin which seemed not in keeping with his calling.
His left nostril was indented by a scar which ran across his cheek, and
one ear was notched well-nigh as deeply as that of a calf at a spring
branding.

"This feller," said Uncle Jim Brothers, "looks like he come from
Arkansaw."

"Maybe _so_," answered Curly. "Anyhow, he shot up two of the boys and
killed a horse for us before we got at him. We was out of
ammunition--I told you we didn't have enough. After we killed the
woollies, and run off them two herders, we rid up the canon. There was
him, a-settin' in the door of his ole Kentucky home, with a Winchester
that'd go off--which it stands to reason couldn't have happened if he
was a real sheepherder. I can't figure that out." Curly scratched his
head dubiously, and looked again at his prisoner.

"He ain't saying a vort alretty," said Whiteman.

"He's happy enough without. He was livin' like a lord there, in his
shack--four hundred paper-back novels, a keg of whiskey and a tin cup,
and some kind of 'hop' that we brung along, and which was the only
thing he hollered over."

The prisoner sat up in the wagon. "If you'd be so good as to give me
the packet you've in your pocket," said he to Curly, "I'd be awfully
obliged to you, old fellow, I would indeed." Curly drew a paper
package from his pocket and passed it to the speaker, who opened it
with eager fingers.

"Thanks, my good man," he remarked, "thank you awfully." They led him
into the deserted Lone Star for further deliberations.

"That's the snuff he's been takin'," Curly explained aside. "I know.
It's 'hop.' Sheep, 'hop,' and whiskey! With that for a life and them
for a steady diet, I don't believe our friend here'd last more'n about
thirty years more." He turned to the captive, who