o be in the Senate representing some railroad company or
waterpower steal--you don't have to work there, just loaf an' take
easy money for cheating the people what put you there. Now, don't get
mad--I'm only stringing you: I wouldn't be mean enough to call you a
senator. To tell the truth, I think yo're too honest to even think of
such a thing. But go ahead an' practise--_I_ don't mind it a bit."

"Huh! I couldn't go to Congress," laughed Fisher. "I'd have to practise
by getting elected mayor of some town an' then go to the Legislature for
the finishing touches."

"Mr. Townsend would beat you out," murmured the stranger, looking out of
the window and wishing for noon. He sauntered over to a chair, placed
it where he could see his horse, and took things easy. The bartender
returned with several men at his heels, and all were grinning and
joking. They took up their places against the bar and indulged in
frequent fits of chuckling, not letting their eyes stray from the man in
the chair and the open street through the door, where the auction was
to be held. They regarded the stranger in the light of a would-be
public benefactor, a martyr, who was to provide the town with a little
excitement before he followed his predecessors into the grave. Perhaps
he would _not_ be killed, perhaps he would shoot the pound-keeper and
general public nuisance--but ah, this was the stuff of which dreams were
made: the marshal would never be killed, he would thrive and outlive his
fellow-townsmen, and die in bed at a ripe old age.

One of the citizens, dangling his legs from the card table, again looked
closely at the man with the plan, and then turned to a companion beside
him. "I've seen that there feller som'ers, sometime," he whispered. "I
_know_ I have. But I'll be teetotally dod-blasted if I can place him."

"Well, Jim; I never saw him afore, an' I don't know who he is," replied
the other, refilling his pipe with elaborate care, "but if he can kill
Townsend to-day, I'll be so plumb joyous I won't know what to do with
m'self."

"I'm afraid he won't, though," remarked another, lolling back against
the bar. "The marshal was born to hang--nobody can beat him on the draw.
But, anyhow, we're going to see some fun."

The first speaker, still straining his memory for a clue to the
stranger's identity, pulled out a handful of silver and placed it on
the table. "I'll bet that he makes good," he offered, but there were no
takers.

The stran