laughed, treated on the house, and shuffled out from
behind the bar with a pack of greasy playing cards. "All at once, or a
dollar a shot?" he asked, shuffling deftly.

"Any way it suits you," responded Fisher, nonchalantly. He knew how a
sport should talk; and once he had cut the cards to see who should own
his full month's pay. He hoped he would be more successful this time.

"Don't make no difference to me," rejoined the bartender.

"All right; all at once, an' have it over with. It's a kid's game, at
that."

"High wins, of course?"

"High wins."

The bartender pushed the cards across the table for his companion to
cut. Nat did so, and turned up a deuce. "Oh, don't bother," he said,
sliding the four dollars and ninety-five cents across the table.

"Wait," grinned the bartender, who was a stickler for rules. He reached
over and turned up a card, and then laughed. "Matched, by George!"

"Try again," grinned Fisher, his face clearing with hope.

The bartender shuffled, and Fisher turned a five, which proved to be
just one point shy when his companion had shown his card.

"Now," remarked Fisher, watching his money disappear into the
bartender's pocket, "I'll put up my gun agin ten of yore dollars if
yo're game. How about it?"

"Done--that's a good weapon."

"None better. Ah, a jack!"

"I say queen--nope, _king_!" exulted the dispenser of liquids. "Say,
mebby you can get a job around here when you quit the CG," he suggested.

"That's a good idea," replied Fisher. "But let's finish this while we're
at it. I got a good saddle outside on my cayuse--go look it over an'
tell me how much you'll put up agin it. If you win it an' can't use it,
you can sell it. It's first class."

The bartender walked to the door, looked carefully around for a moment,
his eyes fastening upon a trail in the sandy street. Then he laughed.
"There ain't no saddle out here," he reported, well knowing where it
could be found.

"What! Has that ornery piebald--well, what do you think of that!"
exclaimed Fisher, looking up and down the street. "This is the first
time that ever happened to me. Why, some coyote stole it! Look at the
tracks!"

"No; it ain't stolen," the bartender responded. He considered a moment
and then made a suggestion. "Mebby the marshal can tell you where it
is--he knows everything like that. Nobody can take a cayuse out of this
town while the marshal is up an' well."

"Lucky town, all right," chirped Fisher. "An