n's
supposed to git drunk, the revels that comes in between bein' mostly
accidental, as you might say. But here comes you, without neither rhyme
nor reason, as the feller says in the Bible, just a-honin' to git drunk
out of a clear sky as the sayin' goes. Of course they's one other
occasion which it's every man's duty to git drunk, an' that's his
birthday, so if this is yourn, have another on the house, an' here's
hopin' you live till the last sheep dies."

They drank, and the Texan rolled another cigarette: "As long as we've
decided to git drunk together, it's no more'n right you-all should know
the reason. It ain't my birthday, it's my--my anniversary."

"Married?" asked the man with the china blue eyes.

"Nope."

"Well, no wonder you're celebratin'!"

"Shorty, there, he's married a-plenty," explained the man with the green
vest, during the general guffaw that greeted the sally.

Again Shorty asked a question, and the Texan noted a hopeful look in the
china blue eyes: "Be'n married an'--quit?"

"Nope."

The hopeful look faded, and removing his hat, the man scratched his
head: "Well, if you ain't married, an' ain't be'n married, what's this
here anniversary business? An' how in hell do you figger the date?"

The Texan laughed: "A-many a good man's gone bugs foolin' with higher
mathmatics, Shorty. Just you slip another jolt of this tornado juice in
under your belt, an' by the time you get a couple dozen more with it,
you won't care a damn about anniversaries. What'll be botherin' you'll
be what kind of meat they feed the sun dogs----"

"Yes, an' I'll catch hell when I git home," whimpered Shorty.

"Every man's got his own brand of troubles," philosophized the Texan,
"an' yours sure set light on my shoulders. Come on, barkeep, an' slip us
another round of this here inebriatin' fluid. One whole year on crick
water an' alkali dust has added, roughly speakin', 365 days an' 5 hours,
an' 48 minutes, an' 45-1/2 seconds to my life, an' has whetted my
appetite to razor edge--an' that reminds me--" he paused abruptly and
picking up the yellow-backed bill that still lay before him upon the
bar, crammed it into his pocket.

CHAPTER II

KANGAROO COURT

Bottle in hand, the bartender eyed the cowboy quizzically. "What's the
big idee--pinchin' back the _dinero_?" he questioned.

The Texan smiled: "Just happened to think, that this is the identical
spot, a year ago, where I imbibed the last shot of red licker