s, it's not
quite accurate."

"I shall cotton to you. Mister," cried Rawson, "I do like pluck, and
you've got it, I can see." He was thinking, however, that the piece of
information just obtained brought back all the difficulties. Clearly
the attachment existing between these two men was no ordinary one. In
dealing with Wyvern, he had also to reckon with Fleetwood, and Fleetwood
had the reputation of being an uncommonly useful man to have at one's
back in a crisis, otherwise an awkward customer if taken the wrong way.

Wyvern in no wise felt like reciprocating the compliment. It was all he
could do to conceal his disgust for this blatant, loud-mouthed,
blasphemous ruffian--the actual text of whose speech has perforce
undergone material deletion here. But he laughed good-naturedly and
then Fleetwood suggested drinks, a proposal uproariously acclaimed by
their visitor.

"Don't you hurry on, Joe," said the latter, after a couple had been
disposed of, and both fairly stiff. "Trek on and outspan at my place.
We can have some roaring games of cards--eh? Had no one to play against
for months. Fond of cards, Mister?"

"Hate 'em," answered Wyvern pleasantly.

"Been skinned too much, maybe?"

"Never gave anyone the chance."

Rawson stared. This to him was something of a phenomenon.

"Well--well, Joe and I must go at it then. Talking of being skinned,
the last fellow I served that way was a half-Dutchman, half-Jew sort of
devil. When he'd lost he wouldn't part--swore I'd cheated. Oh--I went
for him, but he flashed off a pistol at me--darned fool couldn't have
hit a haystack. He didn't get another chance of trying though. I was
on him. Lord--Lord--the way I pounded that chap. He couldn't stand on
his legs for ten days after, and as soon as he could I kicked him off
the place. Bully Rawson cheated!"

The righteous indignation of this last utterance was so inexpressibly
comical to anybody with the most rudimentary knowledge of its utterer's
character, that the effort not to roar out laughing cost Fleetwood
physical pain.

"Have another drink, Bully," he said, by way of sparing himself the
necessity of comment.

"Right you are, Joe," reaching over for the square bottle. "You're a
white man, you are, if ever there was one. Bully Rawson cheated!" he
went on, returning to the subject. "Mister, you may not know much of
me, but I'm honest Bully Rawson has his faults, but all the world'll
tell you he's ho