the
tumble-down express station--all, even the maudlin masquerade of the
High Card Saloon--were institutions inseparable from his thoughts,
inviolable and sacred in the measure of his love for them.

And now! Something caught in his throat and gave forth a choking sound.

"But I reckon it's just as well," he said resignedly. "I sure ain't of
much account." He hesitated and smiled weakly at the sheriff. "I ain't
croakin'," he said apologetically; "there's the circumstantial
evidence." He hesitated again, evidently battling a ponderous question.
"You didn't happen to hear Mary Jane say anything about the express
job?" he questioned with an expression of dog-like hopefulness.
"Anything that would lead you to believe she knowed about it?"

"I don't see what----"

"No, of course!" He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "An' so she don't know
anything. Didn't mention me at all?" The hopefulness was gone from his
eyes, and in its place was the dull glaze of puzzled wonder. "Not that
it makes any difference," he added quickly, as he caught a sudden sharp
glance from the sheriff's eyes.

"An' so I'm to leave Socorro." He looked dully at the sheriff. "Why, of
course, there's the circumstantial evidence." His eyes swept the
shanties, the street, the timber-dotted sides of the mountains that rose
above the town--familiar landmarks of his long sojourn; landmarks that
brought pleasant memories.

"I've lived here a long time," he said, with abrupt melancholy, his
voice grating with suppressed regret. "I won't forget soon."

There ensued a silence which lasted long. It brought a suspicious lump
into the sheriff's throat.

"I wouldn't take it so hard, Texas," he said gently. "Mebbe it'll be the
best for you in the long run. If you get away from here mebbe you make a
man----"

"Quit your damn croakin'!" flashed back Texas. "I ain't askin' for none
of your mushy sentiment!" He straightened up suddenly and smiled with
set lips. "I guess I've been a fool. If you'll hand over that
six-shooter I'll be goin'. I've got business in San Marcial."

"I'll walk up to the station platform an' lay the gun there," said the
sheriff coldly; for Texas was less dangerous at a distance; "an' when
you see me start away from the platform you can start for the gun. I'm
takin' your word that you'll leave peaceable."

And so, with his gun again in its holster, Texas threw himself astride
his Pinto pony and loped down toward the sloping banks of the Rio Gr