hat hit you. You stick to water and
the Cross Bar-8."

"Oh, I reckon I can take care of my own business," sullenly replied
Bucknell. "I can come out here drunk or sober if I wants to, I reckon."

"You can do nothing of the kind," rejoined the sheriff. "And you certainly
ought to be able to take care of your own business, as you say," he
retorted, holding his temper with an effort. "But in the past you didn't,
and you may not in the future. And when your business gets too big for you
to handle it gets into my hands, and if you make any trouble I'll d----n
soon convince you that I can handle your surplus. Now, get out of here and
think it over."

Bucknell swung into his saddle and then turned, the liquor making him
reckless.

"D----n it!" he cried. "The Orphant killed Jimmy and a whole lot more good
cow-punchers! He's nothing but a murdering thief, a d----d rustler, that's
what he is! And you are his best friend, it seems!"

The wan smile flickered across the sheriff's face, but still he refrained,
for such is the foolish consideration given by brave men to liquor. A
drunkard may do much with impunity, for the argument states he is not
responsible, forgetting that in the beginning he was responsible enough
to have left liquor alone, and that injury, whether unintentional or
not, is still injury.

"There is no seem about it!" he retorted. "I _am_ his best friend, and
he needs friends bad enough, God knows. But speaking of murder, those
four good cow-punchers that stopped me in the defile tried hard enough to
qualify at it, and The Orphan not only saved me, but also some of them,
for I'd a gotten some of them before I cashed. You're a h--l of a fine
cub to talk about murders, you are!"

"That's all right," retorted Bucknell, "he's just what I said he was. And
a side pardner of our brave sheriff, too!"

"D----n you!" shouted Shields, his face dark with passion. "You have
said enough, any more from you and I'll break your dirty neck! Just
because I felt sorry for you when you got half killed in the saloon
and let you stay in the country don't think you are the boss of this
section. When I saw what a pitiful, drunken wreck you were, I felt sorry
for you, but not any more. You don't want decent treatment, you want
to get clubbed, and you're right in line to get just what you need, too!
Now, I'm not going to stand any more of your d----d foolishness--my
patience is played out. And if you were half a man you wouldn't sit