n, but
I tried; and I certainly gave 'em a run for their money, while it
lasted. If Bender don't date time from Jeff Creede's big drunk I
miss my guess a mile. And you know, after I got over bein' fightin'
drunk, I got cryin' drunk--but I never did get drunk enough to tell
my troubles, thank God! The fellers think I'm sore over bein' sheeped
out. Well, after I'd punished enough booze to start an Injun uprisin',
and played the faro bank for my wad, I went to sleep; and when I woke
up it seemed a lo-ong time ago and I could look back and see jest how
foolish I'd been. I could see how she'd jollied me up and got me
comin', playin' me off against Bill Lightfoot; and then I could see how
she'd tantalized me, like that mouse the cat had when you was down in
Bender; and then I could see where I had got the big-head bad, thinkin'
I was the only one--and all the time she was _laughin'_ at me! Oh,
it's nothin' now--I kin laugh at it myself in a month; but I'm so dam'
_'shamed_ I could cry." He lopped down in his chair, a great hulk of
a man, and shook his head gloomily.

"They ain't but one girl I ever knowed," he said solemnly, "that
wasn't stringin' me, and that was Sallie Winship. Sal liked me, dam'd
if she didn't. She cried when she went away, but the old lady wouldn't
stand for no bow-legged cowpuncher--and so I git euchred, every
time."

For lack of some higher consolation Hardy cooked up a big supper for
his low-spirited partner, and after he had done the honors at the
feast the irrepressible good health of the cowboy rose up and
conquered his grief in spite of him. He began by telling the story of
his orgy, which apparently had left Bender a wreck. The futile rage of
Black Tex, the despair of the town marshal, the fight with the Big
Man, the arrest by the entire _posse comitatus_, the good offices of
Mr. Einstein in furnishing bail, the crying and sleeping jags--all
were set forth with a vividness which left nothing to the imagination,
and at the end the big man was comforted. When it was all over and his
memory came down to date he suddenly recalled a package of letters
that were tied up in his coat, which was still on the back of his
saddle. He produced them forthwith and, like a hungry boy who sees
others eat, sat down to watch Rufe read. No letters ever came for
him--and when one did come it was bad. The first in the pack was from
Lucy Ware and as Hardy read it his face softened, even while he knew
that Creede was