pay yewr taxes!"

"The Lord can pay mine, then," said McCloud to the path-master, "for
I'll never pay a cent of taxes in Foxville. Now what do you say to
that?"

The path-master had nothing to say. She went away through the golden
dust, one slim hand on the head of her collie dog, who trotted beside
her waving his plumy tail.

That evening at the store where McCloud had gone to buy cartridges,
Tansey taunted him, and he replied contemptuously. Then young Byram
flung a half-veiled threat at him, and McCloud replied with a threat
that angered the loungers around the stove.

"What you want is a rawhide," said McCloud, eying young Byram.

"I guess I do," said Byram, "an' I'm a-goin' to buy one, too--unless you
pay that there road-tax."

"I'll be at home when you call," replied McCloud, quietly, picking up
his rifle, and pocketing his cartridges.

Somebody near the stove said, "Go fur him!" to Byram, and the young
road-master glared at McCloud.

"He was a-sparkin' Ellie Elton," added Tansey, grinning; "yew owe him a
few for that, too, Byram."

Byram turned white, but made no movement. McCloud laughed.

"Wait," said the game-warden, sitting behind the stove; "jest wait
awhile; that's all. No man can fire me into a ditch full o' stinging
nettles an' live to larf no pizened larf at me!"

"Dingman," said McCloud, contemptuously, "you're like the rest of them
here in Foxville--all foxes who run to earth when they smell a
Winchester."

He flung his rifle carelessly into the hollow of his left arm; the
muzzle was in line with the game-warden, and that official promptly
moved out of range, upsetting his chair in his haste.

"Quit that!" bawled the storekeeper, from behind his counter.

"Quit what--eh?" demanded McCloud. "Here, you old rat, give me the
whiskey bottle! Quick! What? Money to pay? Trot out that grog or I'll
shoot your lamps out!"

"He's been a-drinkin' again," whispered the game-warden. "Fur God's
sake, give him that bottle, somebody!"

But as the bottle was pushed across the counter, McCloud swung his
rifle-butt and knocked the bottle into slivers. "Drinks for the crowd!"
he said, with an ugly laugh. "Get down and lap it up off the floor, you
fox cubs!"

Then, pushing the fly-screen door open with one elbow, he sauntered out
into the moonlight, careless who might follow him, although now that he
had insulted and defied the entire town there were men behind who would
have done him a mischief if t