veranda.

"They's a right smart o' dust to-day, Bob," said McHale. "S'pose we
sorter sprinkle it some."

"We'll go into one of the back rooms, where it's cooler," proposed
Shiller.

"Oh, I'd just as soon go to the bar," said McHale. "Might be some of
the boys there. I like to lean up against the wood."

"Well----" Shiller began, and stopped uncertainly.

"Well--what?" McHale demanded.

"Just as well you don't go into the bar right now," Shiller explained.
"You had a sort of a run-in with a feller named Cross, hadn't you--you
or Casey? He's in there with a couple of his friends--hard-lookin'
nuts. He's some tanked, and shootin' off his mouth. We'll have Billy
bring us what we want where it's cooler."

McHale kicked a post meditatively three times.

"There's mighty little style about me, Bob," he said. "I'm democratic a
lot. Havin' drinks sent up to a private room looks to me a heap like
throwin' on dog."

"I asked you," said Shiller. "It's my house. The drinks are on me."

"I spoke of the dust," McHale reminded him. "That makes it my drinks.
And then I done asked a man to meet me in the bar. I wouldn't like to
keep him waitin'."

"I don't want trouble here," said Shiller positively. "I ask you in a
friendly way not to make it."

"Well, I ain't makin' it, am I?" said McHale. "That's all right about
not wantin' trouble, but I got other things to think of. This here
Cross and Dade and that bunch don't run the country. Mighty funny if I
have to drink in a back room for them gents. Next thing you'll want me
to climb a tree. I'm allowin' to stop my thirst facin' a mirror with
one foot on a rail. I'll do it that way, or you and me won't be friends
no more."

"Go to it, then," said Shiller. "You always was a bullhead."

McHale grinned, hitched his holster forward a trifle, and walked toward
the bar. As he entered he took a swift survey of its half dozen
occupants.

Three of them were regulars, citizens of Coldstream. The others were
strangers, and each of them wore a gun down his thigh. They were of the
type known as "hard-faced." Cross, a glass in his right hand, was
standing facing the door. As it pushed open he turned his head and
stared at McHale, whom he did not immediately recognize.

"Come on, friend," said he; "get in on this."

"Sure," said McHale promptly. "A little number nine, Billy. Here's a
ho!" He set his glass down, and faced Cross. "Come again, boys. What'll
you take with me?"

But Cros